


The World Spins Madly On

by thedisgruntledone



Series: The World Spins Madly On [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Groundhog Day, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 53,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the journey to retake Erebor is harrowing. As Bilbo Baggins surveys the wreckage of what was once a group of the best friends he ever had, he wonders if it was all worth it. And then he wakes up. </p><p>And wakes up.</p><p>And wakes up. </p><p>Caught in a cycle that centers on just a few months - those spent traveling with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield - Bilbo has to figure out how to stop time from resetting, and maybe, if he's very, very lucky, manage to change a few things for the better along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am warning you now: if you are a stickler for canon, this is the time you should hit that back button. No, really.

He stared around himself in dismay. Everywhere he looked, people were fighting, dying…and for what? A pile of gold that was as useless as it was pretty? A shiny stone whose value was only it what it represented to its owner? Hardly realizing what he was doing, he began to slowly back away from the carnage, hands rising to cover his eyes as he began to weep bitterly. They were going to lose. His friends…his beautiful, stubborn king…they were going to lose everything, even if they won this battle. It was nearly too much to bear.

The end, when it came, was almost a relief. He barely had the time to understand what the noise behind him meant before cold steel bit into his neck and he knew no more.

~****~

Bilbo flew upright, gasping, sheets impossibly tangled about his legs. His heart was pounding furiously and his eyes were hot. One shaking hand moved to touch his face and came away wet. He’d been crying, then, and why not? The dream had been so very vivid…

He shook his head and peered about his room, taking comfort in how very ordinary it all looked. Part of him wanted to stay in bed the rest of the morning, calm down and possibly get some sleep that didn’t involve ridiculously detailed dreams of death and the clash of swords. Honestly, the things that the brain could come up with, it was amazing. He’d never heard those sounds in his life, and he never would. Respectable hobbits just didn’t get involved in such things.

Neither did respectable hobbits cower in bed because of dreams, so Bilbo untangled his sheets from his legs, stood and stretched, ready to face the day. And if he just so happened to stretch in the patch of weak morning sunlight filtering in from his window, well, that was because his room had gone a bit chilly, and not because he was still trembling slightly with remembered fear and grief, thank you very much.

It wasn’t until he clapped eyes on his decimated pantry that the memory of the night before slammed into him so hard it made him wince. The strange dream had chased the memory of dwarves in his home completely out of his mind…though now he was well aware of where the dream had come from. Not for the first time, he cursed dwarves and kings and especially meddling old grey wizards. In fact, he wished he had Gandalf here right now so that he would know what came of all this talk of adventures. Nothing but nightmares and an empty pantry, that’s what, and he’d just restocked his food supply.

Still, even though he tried to ignore it, his eyes kept straying to his kitchen table, where the contract from the night before had been carelessly left. It was almost as though it were calling to him, a siren’s song encouraging him to _sign the contract, sign it, who knows if such an opportunity will come to you again and you’ve always wanted something to happen to you, something interesting, even though you’d never admit it…_

Next thing he knew, he was flying as fast as his feet could carry him, hastily packed bag slung on his back and contract clutched tightly in one fist, long list of possible hazards trailing out behind him. He caught up with the dwarves quickly enough, and had a brief argument about riding, firmly ignoring the tickle in the back of his mind that whispered _this has happened before_. It wasn’t until he started sneezing and couldn’t find his handkerchief that it all came together, and Bilbo nearly fell off of his horse.

 _All of this had been in his dream_. Everything from the running to catch up with the Company to his fruitless search for a handkerchief. Immediately, he felt the dual impulse to go off script and to say exactly what he remembered, the latter to possibly prove to himself that he had not, in fact, dreamt the future. Just the sound of it was ridiculous. Preposterous. He would repeat it, then, and put the matter to rest. “Stop. We have to go back. I’ve forgotten my handkerchief.”

The incredulous look that Thorin Oakenshield threw at him was disconcertingly familiar, as was the reproachful glance at Gandalf, the one that plainly said “This is what you give me to work with?”, before he turned his back on them and kept going. Right on cue, Bofur tossed him a dirty square of cloth, and Bilbo stared at it, suddenly wishing that he’d kept his mouth firmly shut, or better yet, not left his hobbit hole at all. 


	2. Chapter 2

As the journey progressed, it became harder and harder for Bilbo to convince himself that everything that was happening had been a part of an incredibly strange dream, try as he might. It was too perfect, too exact. Bilbo was experienced enough to know that no dreams were one hundred percent right about everything. Unless…well, it was possible that it was a premonition of some sort, although he’d never heard of anyone on the Baggins or Took side of his family that had that gift. Was it hereditary? Also, if he had this ability, shouldn’t he have known it well before this? If he’d been called upon to guess, he would have supposed these sorts of gifts came to one when they were of age, much as his first pocket watch had, and definitely not when one reached the wholly respectable age of fifty. Granted, he was quite unsure how those sorts of things worked, never having had to think on them before, and soon resolved to ask Gandalf, as he was the only person Bilbo was aware of who might have some glimmer of an idea what was happening.

This resolution, however, was not to be acted on. Travelling as they did, it was extremely hard to get the wizard alone, and during the times it might be achievable – mostly at night when the rest of the company was asleep or on their infrequent stops for food – Thorin Oakenshield usually pulled him aside before Bilbo had a chance.  And then there were the trolls.

When Thorin had charged Fili and Kili with watching the horses, Bilbo had known nothing good would come of it. He was rather proud of himself that even without his possible gift for future-telling, he would have known the same. Fili and Kili were mischievous and clever, and those two things combined often got them into trouble. It wasn’t that they weren’t eager to help, or capable of taking care of themselves – they were and did. It was more that they were young, and prone to amusing themselves whenever there was a spot of down time to be had. Being lively, their attention tended to wander if they felt that there was no imminent danger, and as a result mishaps such as two stolen ponies happened around them more than the others of the company.  
  
That didn’t mean that Bilbo was eager to face three angry trolls. Once had been enough, thank you, whether it be dream, premonition, or actual event. The last thing he was in the mood for was the threat of being ripped limb from limb, and he wasn’t altogether positive that such a threat to his life would keep the dwarves from continuing their attack. Sure, that was how it had gone in Bilbo’s mind, but the Thorin Oakenshield in his mind seemed less surly than the one he had to deal with, and it wasn’t something he wanted to leave to chance. So when the two dwarves tried to convince them it was his duty as their burglar to get the ponies back, Bilbo firmly shook his head and refused to budge. They would tell the others what had happened, and figure out a plan from there, no limbs sacrificed. With this firm determination he spun on his heel and began to head back to camp.  
  
What he didn’t expect was for Kili, who was the more hot-headed of the two, to try and sneak through and steal the ponies back himself. Of course he didn’t go unnoticed for long, for no matter how stealthy a dwarf is, he can’t compare to a hobbit. Bilbo heard the roar of the trolls, heard Kili shout, and without thinking about it dropped the bowls of stew that he was still carrying – why he'd held on to them, he didn't even know – and charged back the way he’d come. There was an awful ripping sound then Fili screamed – a sound that was so full of pain and rage that Bilbo cried out as well, knowing what must have happened but unwilling to believe it, trying to run even faster. He heard the voices of the other dwarves behind him and turned to look, his feet tangled themselves and he fell-  
  
-out of bed and onto the floor with a solid thunk, Kili’s name a scream in his throat. His eyes darted around wildly, hardly seeing anything. He was panting heavily, his heart was racing and he was trembling, but even in his panic he could tell that he was in his own room at Bag End, and most decidedly not in the forest about to confront the trolls who had just killed his friend. Blinking against the too-real vision of his run through the trees-because he knew as well as he knew his own name that that had been no dream – he stood on shaky legs and made his way unsteadily out of the room, looking around himself warily as he did so. His house was as quiet and normal as ever, but soon enough his eyes landed on a familiar length of parchment, and his legs quietly refused to hold him up any long. Sitting down heavily, he stared at the contract, and all he could think was  _what have I gotten myself into_?  
  
This time, he most emphatically did  _not_  sign the contract, and was given three months of peace and quiet and normalcy until one evening found him going from having his usual relaxing after-dinner smoke to opening his eyes in bed, back at the beginning of the whole mess, and more aware than ever that this, whatever it was, was unlikely to end any time soon.  
  
In the end, that's what had him affixing his name once more to the contract. Like it or not, he seemed fated to repeat this same stretch of time, and if he was going to do so, he might as well see what he could of Middle Earth in the process. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Well_ , Bilbo thought as he dangled a good ten feet away from the ground, held there by the very large hand of a stone troll,  _at least no one died this time_.  
  
He’d decided to do things a bit differently when it was time to face the trolls again. He’d told Kili and Fili firmly that yes, they  _would_  be consulting Thorin about the problem, or else he would bring the trolls on their heads right this instant by screaming, even if it meant death. He’d been bluffing, of course – he had no intentions of dying or causing the death of anyone else – but the other two hadn’t known that, and they’d sullenly allowed him to march them back to camp and tell Thorin all, with the hope that he might be able to think of a plan.  
  
He hadn’t thought of a plan. At least not any plan that satisfied Bilbo. In fact, when all was said and done he’d preferred Kili and Fili’s idea better, even though it ended with the entire Company being prepared for dinner and himself covered in troll snot. For Thorin’s genius idea had been to charge into the midst of the three trolls, swords swinging and battle cries ringing. Even before they’d been subdued and forced into those delightful burlap sacks Bilbo hadn’t liked their chances. Sure, they were annoying, in the same way that a bee or thirteen might annoy three elephants, but once the stingers were removed – or in this case, one of the trolls managed to get ahold of Ori when he was busy lashing at another and threatened to rip him limb from limb unless they relinquished their weapons – the annoyance was easily taken care of.   
  
Bilbo of course had been left behind, not being a warrior or anything but a nuisance really. It was the only part of the plan that he’d considered particularly smart, though he’d not questioned Thorin when he’d been detailing it to the Company. The dwarf intimidated him far more than any of the others, and as he knew he was hardly his favorite hobbit either he’d considered it wise to keep his doubts to himself. Watching his thirteen companions be strung up for roasting or bagged for later, however, he thought that perhaps he should have said _something_.  
  
As it was, he’d done the only thing he could: wait for the opportune moment, and then provide as much of a distraction as possible. He knew that Gandalf would show up soon enough, and it was his goal to make sure that they all lived to see it. So when one of the trolls had mentioned the approaching dawn when they were arguing about the best way to cook dwarf, he’d casually strolled out of the trees and called out, “I don’t think that’s how you want to go about it.”  
  
The trolls had all started, then started towards him menacingly. He’d quickly put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I just meant…with the seasoning.”  
  
“How would you know?” demanded troll number one, while number two growled out something about his being a dwarf, too, and three simply demanded that they eat him with the rest. Upon consideration, Bilbo decided to address himself to troll one, ignoring the cries of betrayal from the entire Company.  
  
“Why, because I’ve cooked dwarf before, of course. And I have to say that the way this lot smells, you’re definitely going to need more than sage to make them decent.”  
  
At that, the dwarves had started screaming with rage, and struggling in earnest to free themselves from their bonds. Not to get away, but to kill the traitor in their midst. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fili trying desperately to bite his ankles, and Dwalin – who Bilbo less intimating but definitely more terrifying than Thorin – had managed to free one arm from where it had been tied and he pointed at Bilbo, screaming, “I won’t forget this!” Bilbo gulped, and soldiered on.

“See, the secret to cooking dwarf is…is…you have to skin them first!” And Bilbo had never been what one might call quick thinking under pressure, but he was still vaguely irritated that the only thing he could come up with was what had already been said before. Fortunately, the scene seemed to be playing out as it had once done. As before, it had escalated into an argument, which culminated in poor Bombur being dangled over a troll’s mouth, certain that death was coming his way. Seeing a flash of gray and knowing that help would shortly arrive if he could only keep the trolls from eating anybody, Bilbo had thrown up his hands mentally and let his mouth do what it might.  
  
“Not that one! Look at him. Red face, glassy eyes. He’s obviously infected. Parasites, I’d wager.”  
  
Giving a gasp of disgust, the troll had thrown Bombur away, and Bilbo had pressed his advantage. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all of them had them, actually. Only think about how dirty they are, and how long they must have all been in each other’s company. The only conclusion is that all of them are quite ill. If I were you I wouldn't bother with this lot.”  
  
The expected cries of outrage at this challenge of their perfect health came from behind him, followed by the remembered sound of someone being kicked. They paused, then all started yelling at once about how they were the sickest. He desperately wanted to roll his eyes, but he’d been too busy backing speedily away from troll number two, who was stalking forward with his eyes narrowed.   
  
He wasn’t nearly fast enough to dodge the massive hand that reached for him, and soon enough he found himself dragged up, up, up by the front of his jacket to a giant face, which rumbled at him that it knew exactly what he was up to, and it was going to start its dinner with him. The mouth had opened wide, and the world had grayed out a bit. Dimly he had heard shouting, and a sound like thunder, but he really couldn’t be bothered to pay attention until the thing in front of him froze as the sun washed over it. He was inches from its mouth, and he closed his eyes and sagged in relief, glad to be alive.  
  
Until he opened them again and realized that his jacket was still in the frozen grip of the troll, leaving him dangling from an uncomfortable height with no way down but tearing his clothes and falling.   
  
Once he’d freed himself from the stone troll’s grip (he would miss that jacket, as it had been his favorite, but at least he’d thought to bring a spare one of  _those_ , if not a handkerchief), they had all trooped to the cave that the three of them had used to wait out the daylight. Bilbo had once again opted to stay outside, this time not needing to attempt to clean himself of troll snot but still not particularly interested in whatever riches were in the cave. Gold held no real interest for him, and he’d spent the time that the others were in the cave fussily folding his old jacket and storing it in his pack, all the while thinking to himself that anything that would need to  _hide_  from the sun couldn’t be good. Also, the place smelled awful. 

Once out of the cave, Gandalf once again handed him his little sword. Bilbo took it, staring. It still felt odd to hold such a weapon – he doubted he’d ever become used to it – but there was a sense of familiarity, too. His memories of the first quest had grown a bit hazy in parts after his three month break, especially the parts beyond the trolls, but he remembered enough to know that this tiny weapon had saved his life at least once, and he was grateful to have it back in his possession. 


	4. Chapter 4

Wargs were terrifying. They were also huge, and even as they all ran for their lives, Bilbo stared at Dori in amazement. One of those giant beasts had jumped on top of him, and yet he still ran as though it had been tackled by nothing larger than a puppy. He had noticed that there was a tiny trickle of blood slipping down his temple, and made note of it, although he was sure that once they reached safety, Dori would tend to his own wound. Sure enough, the next time that Bilbo got a good look at him – when he was doing his best to get a stubborn Ori to eat something, anything – the small trickle of blood had disappeared. Still, Bilbo hadn’t envied him the headache he had most definitely been ignoring.  
  
Rivendell was everything that Bilbo had always imagined it would be. Thorin and the rest of the company might not have enjoyed their brief stay with them, but to Bilbo it was the stuff of dreams. The elves were even more graceful and beautiful than he’d imagined, and he would have happily stayed in Revendell forever if he’d only been allowed.   
  
That wasn’t to be the case, as he’d known from the beginning, It had never really been explained to him why Thorin hated elves so very much, but he remembered the past journey enough to recall that it had something to do with a different elf king closer to Erebor. For all that, he didn’t understand why the hatred extended also to Lord Elrond, who had been nothing but perfectly nice to them all. However, he could see that what was to Bilbo and possibly Gandalf a wonderful break from danger and worry was to the rest a misery, especially Thorin. None of them had slept well, all of them were on edge and exceedingly twitchy, but none so much as their leader. The time that it took to produce the right moon for reading the map he held were spent by him in pacing like a restless cat, twitching at every unfamiliar noise and growling at nearly everyone who came too close. After witnessing that, and observing Lord Elrond’s too keen interest in what the map was really required for, Bilbo didn’t need to know the future to predict that he’d be shaken awake before the sun had even cleared the mountains and told that they would be leaving Rivendell immediately.   
  
Knowing it was inevitable did not stop him from looking back, wishing that he could stay, and he did so often enough to incur a reprimand from Thorin. He’d sighed, and resolved to look resolutely forward, cheering himself with the thought that if he got sent back to the beginning, he’d at least have the consolation of seeing Rivendell once again. The resolution hadn’t stopped the feeling of vague panic that had settled in his chest. If anything, it increased it.

He almost hadn’t figured out why he was so worried until it was too late, and after all was said in done, he wished he’d not remembered at all. When they’d reached the stone mountains and Thorin had decided to push them forward rather than wait for Gandalf as he’d promised despite the driving rain, Bilbo had remembered all, and frantically tried to change course. A heavy hand had fallen on his shoulder, and Bofur, who was walking behind him, said soothingly, “Never fear, Bilbo my lad. We’ll get out of this alright.” Bilbo had tried to tell him that he didn’t understand, but his voice had been lost in thunder that wasn’t, and soon enough they found themselves engaged in a stone giant battle for the second time in his memory.  
  
Bilbo had remembered just enough to know that the last place he wanted to be in that moment was anywhere near the edge, so he backed away furiously, his mind buzzing with remembered panic. When what they’d once mistaken for a ledge began to separate, he flung himself backward as hard as he could, accidentally kicking Bofur in the process. The kick unbalanced Bofur even farther, and Bilbo watched with horrified eyes as his friend lost his footing completely and disappeared over the side, with no life-saving grab onto the ledge to help him. In the confusion nobody had yet noticed aside from Bilbo, and he closed his eyes, sick with pain at what he’d inadvertently caused.  
  
When he opened them again, he was in his soft warm bed, back at the beginning. “Oh”, he’d whispered in realization. “ _Oh_.”   
  
Then he’d leaned over the side of his bed as the sick feeling that had started when he’d seen Bofur fall abruptly returned and he’d lost the last night’s dinner on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Time went on, in a sense, though as it passed, Bilbo soon lost count of how many times he’d restarted his part of the quest. He found himself instead beginning to count time in a different way. For instance, he discovered that there were several different ways to die by troll, including ripping, biting, cooking, stabbing, smashing, and in one very horrible instance, choking to death on troll snot. If he had to repeat the incident a thousand more times, that was the one death that he would never, never repeat, no matter the cost. Just the thought of it made him a little sick. He also learned that should he fall from the stone giant’s thigh during the rain soaked battle, he would faint from terror long before he reached the ground, which resulted in him waking up on his floor, rattled but for the most part feeling no worse for wear than if it had actually been a simple dream.

The worst deaths, Bilbo had soon come to realize, were never his own. He would happily die a hundred more deaths if he never had to see Bofur’s panicked face as he fell from the edge of a giant’s thigh, hear Kili’s shrill screams as trolls tore him limb from limb, or kneel on the grass next to a Dori who hadn’t moved quite fast enough to avoid a leaping warg’s claws, holding his coat to the wounds and hating the that he could actually _feel_ the life bleeding out of him.

It was this which had him racing to defend Thorin every time that they confronted Azog. It wasn’t bravery, and it certainly wasn’t the knowledge that he would manage to hold the pale orc off long enough to save both of their lives – more than a few times he’d found himself raked by giant claws, cut down by axes and spears, or with hands surrounding his head preparing to break his neck. That last was a queer experience – a moment of intense agony coupled by a crack that was so short he almost had no time to experience it, and then he would wake in his bed, exactly as he’d been the first time he’d left, with nothing but the memory of what had happened to make it seem real. It didn’t matter. He could be weaponless and terrified, as he had been the one time he’d managed to steal the horses back both without alerting the trolls _and_ stumbling across them later, or have his sword and still misjudge the angle enough that instead of killing the orc that had been sent for Thorin’s head, he’d merely given him little more than a scratch and had his neck broken for the trouble. It wasn’t important, though. What was important was that Bilbo not have to watch anyone else die.

The most frightening part about the business wasn’t dying, even though he was sure that he would never become used to it. It was the constant panic that each time, each journey might be the final one, that the death that inevitably happened might be the one where Bilbo did not wake up. It gnawed at him constantly, a low level panic that was always buzzing under his skin, making him more and more restless and twitchy as time went on. The worry kept him from sleeping, which made him clumsy, stupid. It wasn’t until he answered one of the small, twisted creature in the cave’s riddles wrong – a riddle he’d heard at least twenty times by then – and came to in bed after being bashed with a rock that he’d decided enough was enough. He had to take a vacation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for the moment - please, do let me know what you think. :)


	6. Chapter 6

He knew he couldn’t simply stay home and not go on the journey. Remembering well enough how many life-threatening scrapes they’d all gotten into, he knew that all of them couldn’t be avoided by not having him present. He also knew that the first long leg of the journey was full of nothing but camping and riding, the perfect time for a hobbit to think about how to manage a much-needed break without getting anyone killed.

He was so distracted by thinking of how to find a small reprieve at the best possible time that he quite forgot to play his part in the conversation around him – a part that by turns annoyed and amused him by never really changing, no matter how he began…or how he managed to forget his handkerchief more often than not, even knowing that his allergies would act up around all those ponies. He’d forgotten it again, of course, but when he inevitably sneezed, he was too far into his head to do more than sniff and pat his pocket absently, missing the sharp glance that this lack of concern drew from the wizard riding alongside him.

However, it was not to present a problem for long. Bilbo was nothing if not clever, and he soon had it sorted in his head that the best place to both slip away from his companions and not somehow result in his or anyone else’s death would be during their stay at Rivendell. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he was able to once again don the role of the bumbling, fussy hobbit that he had been at the start with a cheerfulness that he hadn’t been able to muster for a long time.

Now that he had a rest to look forward to, Bilbo was almost chipper. It was imperative that everyone live up until then, so Bilbo took absolutely no chances. For the first time he took advantage of being smaller and quieter than all of his companions, and made it a point to listen to all discussions between Thorin and Gandalf, thinking it might help him with his plan of relaxation. He knew that none of them would until they were nearer Rivendell, or even in the place itself, but he thought he might as well get the practice.

The first conversation he overheard was interesting, though Bilbo could see why Gandalf had stormed away after. Thorin’s refusal to see all elves as anything but the enemy seemed silly to him, as Elrond had been nothing but friendly during the repeat visits to Rivendell. No matter how surly Thorin had gotten, the elf had responded with grace and a quiet dignity that Bilbo could not help but respect. Even if he and his people had been betrayed by the elves of Mirkwood – and Bilbo didn’t remember enough of the particulars at the moment to make a judgment one way or the other – that hardly meant that every single elf in middle earth was untrustworthy. Such proof of Thorin’s ability to hold a grudge made him extremely uncomfortable, however, and he didn’t like to dwell on it too much. He wasn’t entirely sure why – he had a vague notion that it had something to do with things that had as yet only happened once, but it had been so long that he couldn’t tell what that might be.

The second conversation he listened to was even less to his liking. After he’d managed to save all of their hides from three angry trolls long enough for Gandalf to arrive and turn them to stone, it was incredibly vexing to hear Thorin blaming him for the entire mess. He was small, and unused to battle. He also hadn’t yet acquired his little sword, so in a fight he had nothing to use but his brains. For all that, though, he thought that he’d done remarkably well in the moment by coming up with enough reasons not to eat his friends raw that the three trolls had been distracted enough not to notice the gray figure of their wizard sneaking through the trees to make his dramatic entrance. Even the first time, he’d felt rather proud of himself, and he was gratified to hear that Gandalf agreed, even as he smarted once again at the slight rebuke in the older man’s voice that hinted that _Thorin_ should have been the one to think them all out of the scrape. As though it wasn’t expected for Bilbo to keep his head in a stressful situation. He’d wanted to storm into the middle of their little conference and remind them that he was a Baggins, thank you very much, and Bagginses prided themselves on being able to remain calm in all situations. Yet that would entail revealing that he’d been eavesdropping, and he had not been quite so offended as to believe that a good idea.

When Radagast the Brown had found them in the wood, Bilbo found that he was already sick of listening in to other people’s conversations. There was no way that hearing whatever had Gandalf looking so grave could help him in his quest for a mini holiday, so he didn’t bother to try and hear it. Instead he slowly sidled closer to Dori, so that he could reach out and tug him to the side just a huge warg tried to take off his intricately braided head. This was the first time he had tried to help Dori in such a way – he had learned that if Dori moved only slightly in either direction that the warg would succeed in its endeavors to kill one of the company and hoped fervently that a good tug would send him far enough out of the thing’s path that it would miss him completely.

It did. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief as Dori stumbled into them and they both fell over to the left. The warg landed and someone brought it down and Dori stood quickly, bringing Bilbo with him as Dwalin dispatched with the second. He clapped his little savior companionably on the shoulder and Bilbo grinned, while Gandalf’s eyes narrowed briefly at the before he spun on Thorin and demanded to know who he had told of their quest. When he denied it, the old wizard snarled that they were being hunted, and Bilbo swallowed hard, just as worried as if this were new to him. That was one of the worst things – the way that the news that they were being tracked down like animals for a slaughter never became less terrifying. If there was one thing that Bilbo had come to know without a doubt during this endless loop of time, it was that nothing was set in stone. Just because they survived until Rivendell one time did not guarantee that they would the next. Even following what had happened the last time to the letter didn’t ensure safety, because everything that happened was determined by the reactions of each one of their fourteen members, and never mind that Bilbo had a slight advantage by knowing what was going to  happen. He only knew the events, he didn’t know how his fellow travelers might react to them on any given repeat.

All this passed through Bilbo’s mind in the speed of a second, though he was not aware of it. He wouldn’t become so until Rivendell, where a pool of water, and a good night’s sleep hidden away in the Moon Room where the map of Erebor had been read would bring it to light. Thorin had warned him not to go too far when he began to wander, informing him in no uncertain terms that should he not be ready to leave in the morning that he would be left before striding purposefully as far away from his companions as possible without losing sight of them to brood silently, glowering at nothing and, Bilbo was sure, muttering horrible things about elves under his breath. Bilbo had given a polite nod and wandered as far as he liked, purposefully leaving his bedroll and pack with the others so that they would assume he’d come back.

He’d thought that Rivendell was beautiful each time they’d come there, but he’d never gotten the chance to explore before. It had been glorious to finally do so. He’d wandered for hours, his eyes feasting on the beauty around him as he had feasted on bread and vegetables at dinner. Bilbo, like most hobbits, had a keen eye for beauty, and there had been so much of it to see that he’d felt nearly drunk on it. He’d never before seen a place where there was so much joy to be had in looking, not just at his surroundings but at the people, too. The elves were all beautiful, all stately and calm and graceful, and though Bilbo found himself too timid to approach any of them he felt that he could look for hours. He was so enraptured that he hardly noticed that most of the elves were watching him just as keenly, if more subtly. Hobbits were not often seen outside of their own communities, having too much fondness for hearth, home, and a hearty meal to journey far, so for many Bilbo was the first they had seen, and all the wisdom of the years does not do away with curiosity. He might have been surprised to know how charming they found the little fellow wandering through their home, his eyes bright and dancing with a joy and a wonderment that they had long ceased to really feel themselves.

Therefore Bilbo had been free to wander, the subtle gazes of the elves completely unfelt, until he wandered into a smaller area of greenery that had a small pool at its center. Curious, he had inched closer, peering into water so clear that he could see to the sand underneath, though soon he had the odd feeling that should he peer to long, this would cease to be so. Unwilling to test the theory and frightened for reasons he could not understand, he hastily looked up – and into the eyes of the most beautiful being that he had seen yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Startled, Bilbo stumbled back and nearly lost his footing. On the other side of the small pool sat an elfin woman who regarded him a calm blue stare. Blond hair fell down her shoulders and back, and even though she was sitting perfectly still he somehow knew that she would walk as though on air. Halting apologies for disturbing the Lady before him were on his lips, but she smiled, eyes dancing, and answered before he could even open his mouth, “I think it is I who have disturbed you, little one.” She had a clear, sweet voice that made him think of bells, and he wondered briefly what it might be like to hear laughter from such a voice before her words had even registered.

Bilbo shook his head. “Oh, no. I beg your pardon, but I haven’t been here long enough to be disturbed. I must have been so focused on the water that I didn’t even see you.” That could be the only explanation, he felt, as he had barely been at the pool before he’d seen her. Odd that he should be so focused that he hadn’t realized someone sat so very within sight, but Bilbo supposed it was possible, and he blushed to think that he had been so inadvertently rude.

“I think you will find,” she replied lightly, “that you have been here for longer than you know.” As she looked down at the water, her smile turned into something fond and not a little sad as she continued, “This place is meant for reflection, and many have stumbled upon it and found that hours feel like minutes. It is a place that calls to those who are troubled in mind and spirit.” Her voice lowered, almost as if she were talking to herself. “I found myself in need of its singular abilities this evening, for my mind is indeed troubled.”

Unsure if it would be welcome, but unable to help himself in the face of her worry, Bilbo asked if there might be anything he could do to help. At this, her eyes met his once again and the soft smile that had turned sad in her musing widened into something so impossibly lovely that Bilbo quite lost his breath. “You’ve already quite done so,” she replied. “Just speaking with you has eased my heart. I do hope that you have found the same comfort in your reflection.”

Bilbo assured her that he had, hating the blush on his face. He thought about it for a moment and was surprised to find that it was true. No longer did he feel as though he were at the end of his rope, too stressed and heartsick to function. In fact, he felt rather light, as though the burden of figuring out how to stop this endless cycle of repeated time had been lifted from his shoulders. He still didn’t know how it was to be done, and he was still resolved to try and find the answer before any further deaths, but the constant low-level panic that had been buzzing in his brain since he’d realized what was happening had ceased. He felt calm and ready to face that challenges ahead.

Relieved and more in love with Rivendell than ever, he beamed at his companion. “I really do feel much better”, he said happily, and then a great cracking yawn took over his body. Embarrassed, he blushed again, and covered his mouth, but the Lady only laughed and stood gracefully. “It is late, and I fear that the stress of your journey has exhausted you. Will you allow me to walk with you?”

Bilbo nodded without thinking, getting to his feet. Then he recalled that he was hiding so that he could enjoy his break, and even though he felt that it was no longer needed, he still wanted to have one.

As though sensing his sudden hesitation, the Lady added, “Or you could be so kind as to escort me to my destination, if it is not too far out of your way. I would appreciate your company.”

This, Bilbo could agree to readily, and they were soon off. He felt clumsy and awkward walking next to one so graceful, but if she noticed this, she said nothing. She  simply smiled, and asked how he liked Rivendell, and then about his home, which he was only too happy to talk about, forgetting in the process of relating his best memories of his beloved Shire all about his ungainliness next to his companion.

Her destination was yet another open sort of room with a stone table at its center. Bilbo looked around curiously, wondering what she wanted in this room but far too polite to ask. The lady bent down and gently grasped his hands in hers. Startled, Bilbo’s eyes flew to hers. She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft, assessing, before she seemed to find what she was looking for. With a small and a gentle squeeze to his hands, she said, “You are extraordinary, do you know that?” Bilbo blushed again, started to shake his head, but she cut off his protests by leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his cheek, making his eyes widen in amazement and his blush go even darker. “You are. Perhaps even more so because you are not aware of it. There will be more trials ahead for you, I am afraid. But you will weather each storm beautifully.” She let go of his hands and rose, still smiling, so lovely and graceful that Bilbo lost his breath again, and he thought to himself that he was lucky to have met her.

“This is where I must take my leave of you. However, I do hope that we meet again. I think we shall.” Bilbo beamed.

“It was a pleasure to have met you, and walked with you.” He said, dipping his head slightly in a little bow, feeling ridiculous but quite unable to stop himself.

“I do believe that the pleasure was mine, Bilbo Baggins”, she replied. His head came up in surprise, but the question of how she knew his name when he was sure he had never told her died on his lips when he realized that he was alone. His companion had disappeared…or perhaps she had never been there at all. He found himself wondering if the combination of stress and lack of proper rest had addled his mind so much that he had made her up. Had he needed the reassurance she had given so badly?

He shook his head. It couldn’t be. He had once had a very active imagination as a young hobbit, it was true, but it had been years since he’d really exercised it, and he wasn’t sure that it could come up with something as lovely as her on its first try. No, she had been real, but she was now gone, and his practical side was insisting that he find somewhere to rest soon, because he was about to fall asleep on his feet.

Bilbo thought for a second, wondering where he might go that he wouldn’t be discovered. He knew that Thorin would not wander looking for him, and that if the others tried he would stop them, but it was always better to be cautious, and besides, there was Gandalf to worry about. Gandalf who was staying by Elrond so that the rest of the group would have a chance to sneak away, and who had the most irritating habit of figuring things out in just enough time to either save the day or destroy a good plan. Bilbo had to be careful of Gandalf for this night, though he was positive he would have some explaining to do once it was over.

Soon enough he had decided that the safest place for him to rest would be the odd Moon Room that the map of Erebor had been read in earlier. He was quite sure that no one would have need of it again that night, and it would be rather pleasant to sleep beneath the moonlight for once without fear of attack by orcs, wargs, or goblins. Decision made, he began his new quest to relocate that room, and not a moment too soon, for just as he left the open room he heard someone else enter it. Not wanting to be seen, Bilbo picked up his pace, worried every second that he had been seen and would be called back. That did not happen, however, and after a while he relaxed, stopped, and looked around, trying to figure out which direction he needed to go to reach his destination, and sleep.

It was fortunate for Bilbo that he had an excellent memory and a very good sense of direction, else he might have wandered the many halls of Rivendell for the rest of the night. As it was, he did manage to get lost once, but returning back to the spot where he had made the error fixed the problem easily. He made it to the Moon Room in good time, and settled down to a well-deserved rest.


	8. Chapter 8

When Bilbo woke, sunlight was streaming in the little Moon Room alcove where he had laid his head. None of it touched him, however, for standing over him and blocking it out was a very displeased wizard.

“Bilbo Baggins” he said in the very measured tones of someone who was doing all they could not to lose their temper, “what exactly do you think you are doing?”

He sat up quickly. He was unable to keep from stretching luxuriously after what had turned out to be a very wonderful night’s sleep, but once his muscles allowed him to, he replied, “Taking a bit of a holiday, actually.” Gandalf’s expression began to get thundery, and he hastened to explain farther. “This is going to sound odd – actually more than odd, unbelievable – but I promise you it’s true…”

Thus Bilbo unfolded his tale. By the end of it, Gandalf had moved to sit heavily next to him, his expression grave but not disbelieving. He reached out one weathered hand and gave Biblo’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I have never heard of such a thing as this,” he began, “but I have heard of others. Indeed I have experienced some myself. Your own mother, Bilbo, sometimes knew things that were to happen before they occurred.  However, sometimes knowing the future is very different from repeating the same cycle over and over.”

“I’m not a liar,” he replied hotly, pulling out from under Gandalf’s hand. “You asked, and I answered. Just because you haven’t seen it or-or heard of it before hardly means it can’t _happen_ –“

“Peace, friend. It was not my intention to accuse you of falsehood. I have never known you to lie or make up stories. No,” he continued, as he rose and reached down to help Bilbo up as well, “I believe you. As unbelievable as your tale is it can only be true.” With that, he strode out of the room, leaving Bilbo to follow.

They left Rivendell much as they had entered it – without making mention of it to anybody. Bilbo was intrigued, as he’d thought that Gandalf at least had made his excuses. When he asked him, the wizard laughed. “I have been through enough interrogations for one day. Besides, you can bet that Lord Elrond is already aware of my departure, as well as the fact that you are with me.” Gandalf gave him a considering look. “Bilbo. Am I correct in assuming that his is the first time you’ve mentioned your...difficulty to me?” Bilbo nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Might I ask why?”

Bilbo shrugged, focusing on the ground in front of him. He couldn’t say what had stopped him from telling Gandalf about his situation, because he didn’t really know himself. It was undeniable that the wizard had a certain measure of power, and that he knew others who were even more so. Surely someone could give Bilbo the answer he sought. Yet he’d kept his silence, and his only real reason for doing so was that the felt that it was his job to figure it out. He had been set this task, and it was he who had to complete it. Seeking a solution from someone else might solve it, but he had a feeling that it might only make the horrible future that he sometimes dreamt about a certainty. He couldn’t express these thoughts aloud, however, so Gandalf would have to be content with a shrug.

“I see.” Suddenly, he clapped his hands and smiled, continuing cheerfully, “Well, no matter. I know now, and because I do, I know where to find our friends, and we shall see them in short order.”

Though Gandalf had been optimistic, they did not meet up with the rest of their group until the goblin caves, due in part to rain and also to having to walk, for whatever measure Gandalf had taken to make it to them was lost to him with Bilbo in tow. When Bilbo asked why, all he received was a lot of muttering and talking around in circles, and he privately thought that Gandalf had no right to lecture _him_ on secrecy, considering he couldn’t answer a very simple question himself. In general he was surprised that he found his company to be a little less pleasant than he would have thought, for all they both liked and respected each other. Gandalf had a tendency to go off into his own head and forget that Bilbo was even there, and for Bilbo’s part, he realized that he missed the boisterous company of the dwarves. He missed Fili and Kili trying to trip each other, Dori telling Ori that he should walk straighter, eat more, and for goodness sake take better care of his braids while doing his best to stop Nori from snatching Dwalin’s things at random moments, as the former seemed to think it the height of amusement to annoy the latter to the point of murder. He even missed Thorin’s constant measuring gaze, even though he knew that he was often found wanting.

The truth of the matter was that he’d come to really like each one of his travelling companions, even the ones that terrified him on a regular basis. He wanted to know more about them, to call them ‘friend’ and really mean it. He didn’t know how to accomplish that goal at the moment, but as he was still completely lost as to how he was going to stop repeating the same time period over and over, he figured that he would have time to figure it out.


	9. Chapter 9

Gandalf left him where they were to end up once they’d escaped from the goblins. “No point in putting you in unnecessary danger,” he’d explained. Bilbo had wanted to protest, had wanted to argue that he could handle himself, but held his tongue. For one thing, he was not eager to face a goblin horde. But the real reason he held his tongue was because he knew that protesting would incite curiosity, and he still didn’t want to explain the ring. It was still his secret, and he wanted to keep it to himself. So when Gandalf left him to once again appear just when all hope seemed lost, Bilbo resolved to head up the hill on his own, to try and see if he could perhaps find his way back to where he’d seen the ring and picked it up, to take it once more.

Once he could no longer see the wizard’s back as he headed away from him, Bilbo began to pick his own way up the steep hill. Once he reached the entrance to the tunnel, he hesitated, looking back. He could wait as he was supposed to and meet up with his friends, and leave the ring for the creature who loved it so much, or perhaps some lucky goblin, to find. He could stay, and be safe.

Bilbo walked in the tunnel. Yes, he thought, he could be safe…until the wargs and the pale orc came. After that there would be another brief period of safety, followed by danger, on and on until Erebor was reclaimed. Even then the safety of the group wasn’t guaranteed. If he had learned one thing on this endless repeat of the same journey, Bilbo Baggins had learned that safety was relative at best, and that it could change in an instant.

At least, that was what he told himself. It was pretty, and it had the advantage of being true, but it wasn’t the entire reason that he decided to head into the tunnel. Nor nearly all of it. The real, honest reason that Bilbo was able to head towards danger instead of away from it had quite a lot to do with a circlet of gold lying on the ground, waiting to be picked up. Waiting for _him_ to pick it up.

Another thing that Bilbo Baggins soon learned was that running in a blind panic from a mad, disgusting creature bent on killing him for theft a couple of times was much, much different from trying to retrace that path when one was, if not perfectly calm, at least not scared out of his mind. At first he tried to keep very good track of where he’d gone, but after a while he’d realized that he’d taken more than one wrong turn, and that trying to backtrack and start over would not work. The dark was oppressive and strange, the call of the ring not strong enough to keep him from wishing that he’d stayed where he was told. He pulled his sword out of its scabbard, feeling comforted by its presence. Slowly, the panic began to set in. His eyes strained to see anything in the darkness, but there was nothing. He noticed that his breathing was becoming heavier, that his feet were moving faster, and was helpless to stop either. He began to run, knowing that it was the dumbest thing he could do at the moment and doing so anyway. This made it hard to stop, and he was waist deep in water before he realized it.

He looked about himself in bewilderment, and realized with a jolt that he was in the very water that had surrounded the riddle-cave. He breathed a sigh of relief. If he could just locate the area, he might have a chance at getting out of the cave. The call of the ring was completely gone now. All he cared about was getting out again, and being able to continue his journey. The last thing he wanted was to die down here, in this place that smelled of stagnation, death, and unwashed flesh.

Unwashed..? Before the thought had even processed, the side of his head exploded into bright pain. His sword ( _sting. he’d named it sting when he’d faced the spiders, those awful spiders_ ) slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers and he toppled to the side, mostly unconscious. His eyes were nearly shut with pain and wooziness, but just before they closed completely he saw a dirty, too-skinny leg come into view and knew that he was fated to die this time in the cold and damp, with two voices that issued from the same being hissing in his ear. _Please_ , he thought as the darkness won and he slid gratefully into it, _please don’t let this be the last time_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos I've received so far. I'm going to try and get everything that I have at the kink meme uploaded here by Christmas, and then hopefully maybe try to finish this thing by the new year. *crosses fingers*

_He was running, terrified, trying to catch up to his friends. He could just see their backs ahead of him, and he forced himself to move that much faster even though he felt like he was running through mud, but it was no use. They kept getting farther and farther away. Still, he refused to give up. Furious, he looked down to see what was constricting his legs, and saw the creature from the goblin’s tunnels, hissing through his mad grin that he wanted his Precious, he wanted it_  now, thief, dirty rotten thief. _Bilbo lashed out in revulsion, his sword cutting through the creature like mist, and suddenly he was free._ _  
  
He ran again. He had to get there in time. He had to save them. The Arkenstone was heavy in his pocket, seeming heavier for what he had to do. He was aware that this would cause his friends to hate him, Thorin most of all, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was making sure that the gold sickness didn’t destroy them all. He wanted to stop running – his legs were sore and his heart was heavy – so heavy that it felt as though something was actually pressing down upon his chest – but he had to keep running. There was Bombur to wake at midnight, and there was a small voice inside of him to try to out distance as well, a voice that whispered to him to_ keep running, take the stone and run all the way back to the Shire. They can’t appreciate it, not really, not the way you can, and what have they done for you that you should be so loyal? Haven’t they praised or belittled you depending on their own whims? Haven’t they denied you the very friendship that you have given so freely? Run away, run home, runrunruntakehaveyoursitsyourstakeit…  
  
 _He put the voice out of his mind and kept going, but something was behind him, something big and terrible that wanted him dead, and it was closing in, faster than he could move, letting out a roar that shook the ground and sent him sprawling –_  
  
Bilbo jerked awake, gasping, to find that despite being out of the dream, he was still trapped in a nightmare, for perched upon his chest was the thing that by all rights should have already killed him. It was grinning, its mad eyes alight.   
  
“It’s awake!” it cried, clapping its hands in delight. “It’s awake, yes it is Precious, and now we can see what it is, and then eats it.”   
  
Bilbo recoiled in revulsion and alarm, striking out blindly and managing to knock the creature off of him. He jerked to his feet, ignoring both the blinding pain in his head and the way that the world seemed to spin, and grasped for Sting. He gave a furious cry when his hand closed around air.  
  
“Is it looking for its nasty little sword?” the creature hissed, face twisted into its more threatening mask. “It won’t find it, no it won’t. We took it and threw it in the water. Nasty, cutsy thing it was.” It stalked forward, and Bilbo stumbled back, unusually clumsy. He felt terror clawing at his throat, threatening to white out his mind, but he couldn’t let it. His only chance without either ring or sword was to try and bring out the pleasanter side of the thing in front of him – that, and make sure that he stayed well out the reach of its curling, grasping fingers.   
  
“What is it, Precious? We wants to know what it is! What comes into our homeses and brings its pointy cutses and hurtses?” it made its awful retching sound and snatched at Bilbo, who dodged away with a little cry. At that, it laughed, the other personality coming over it abruptly as it did a little caper. “It’s fast, yes it is, so fast. But we’re faster, aren’t we, Precious? Won’t we catch it and bash in its quicksy little brainses? We will, we will.”

Bilbo pushed aside the fresh wave of fear that that statement caused, and did his best to think. He had to keep it distracted until he could figure out an escape, that was all. Not with riddles this time – even though they were all sure to be the same ones he’d heard before, he didn’t trust his scattered brain to provide him with the right answers. It would have to be something else. The creature moved towards him again, and again he backed away, causing it to cackle harshly.  
  
“D-don’t you want to know what I am first?” he stammered, still stumbling back. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”  
  
It nodded, grinning. “Tell us”, it demanded, “tell us! We wants to know. We wants to know what it is, and if it’s tasty. Is it tasty?”  
  
“Oh. Oh, yes, very, I’d imagine,” Bilbo replied, hardly knowing what he said, “but it won’t tell you what it is unless you tell it what you are first. It’s only polite.”  
  
The creature cocked its head. “Polite?” it repeated. “It wants us to be polite? We can do that! We knows how to be polite!” it sketched a small bow. “At your service.” Then it let out a giggle, a high-pitched, shrieking sort of thing that echoed around them and caused Bilbo’s entire body to break out in gooseflesh. He forced himself to ignore it. He had to  _think_.   
  
“Now you!” it cried, gesturing at him, then its face twisted once more and it continued, “ _No_. No more talking.” And it came at him.  
  
There was no time to think, no time to even scream. One moment Bilbo was facing the creature with his hands up in a feeble gesture of protection, and the next he was on his back, doing his best to fend the thing off as it clawed and bit at him. One forearm was braced against its throat, barely holding off snapping jaws, while the other groped uselessly at his side, looking for a weapon, any weapon…  
  
He was weakening. His head was still pounding, and his vision kept doubling, but Bilbo wouldn’t stop fighting. He couldn’t. His groping fingers met something hard and large. A rock! As the arm holding it off began to give, he summoned the last of his strength and brought the rock up, screaming. He slammed it as hard as he could into the face above him.   
  
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stun the creature and allowed Bilbo to topple him to the side. Before he could think about what he was doing, he scrambled to his knees, raised the rock and brought it down again. Again. Then he dropped it, and retched. There was nothing in his stomach to sick up, but bile burned the back of his throat and his eyes filled with tears.   
  
He allowed himself to fall to the side and rest for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, to seek the comfort of sleep until he was ready to deal with what had happened, but he knew that he couldn’t. He was in very bad shape, blood trickling from his head as well as a dozen other points that the clawed fingers of the creature had raked. One of his wrists was a swollen and throbbing point of pain, and for the first time that he could remember, his feet ached. He was weak, and drained, but he was also fairly sure that the thing in front of him wasn’t dead. If he allowed himself the luxury of sleep, he might never wake up.   
  
After a few moments of blessed rest, Bilbo propelled himself to his feet by force of will, then took a few more seconds to breathe and sway drunkenly as he told himself that he could sleep when this was over. He steadfastly refused to acknowledge the part of his mind that was gibbering that he didn’t have Sting, so how exactly did he expect to fight off the wargs and orcs that they were going to run into in very short order? He didn’t know how he was going to survive it, but there was no way he was going to go through all of this just to die because of a lack of weapon.   
  
With this in mind (and not because he still wasn’t sure if he could walk properly, thank you very much) he looked around, hoping that he might find something he could use as a weapon. What he did see was a glint of gold, about a foot from where the last desperate battle for his life had taken place. It was the ring. Of course it was. The cause of the whole mess. 

“It isn’t a weapon,” Bilbo told himself, completely unaware that he was speaking aloud, “therefore it can stay right where it is. I haven’t the energy to pick it up, at any rate. Let it sit there until the end of time, if need be. Let someone else have it, for I am done with it.”

Even as he spoke, he was dismayed to find that his feet were moving towards the little glint of gold, that his knees were bending and his fingers grasping, the ring in his hand before the last sentence was even out of his mouth. A wave of cold fear that had nothing to do with his current situation swept over him, and he shivered. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he just left the ring to be found by someone else in the first place, instead of heading down into the caves the way he had?  
  
He heard sounds behind him, like something moving, but weakly. The creature was waking up. Bilbo was relieved, as he had not been wholly certain that he hadn’t killed it and he hadn’t been comfortable with the possibility that he had. Relieved or no, he knew that if it woke to see him he would be dead, so he slipped the ring on his finger, pretending not to notice the odd sort of pleasure he got from doing so. Harder to deny was the sense of slightly renewed strength, but he decided to view that as a positive. That strength would be needed to get him to his companions.  
  
He moved carefully and slowly, ever listening for the sound of someone coming up behind him, but eventually found himself at the mouth of the tunnel where he’d exited many times before, and allowed himself to stop for a rest and a sigh of relief. He still had no idea how he was going to make it through the upcoming fight with the orcs, but he was no longer afraid of dying in those dank caves, and that had to count for something.   
  
He was just starting to pick his way down the mountain when his overtired muscles finally gave out and he fell. Bilbo threw out his hands, the impact with the earth jarring him all the way up to his elbows and making his poor, abused head throb even more. He began to roll, the steepness of the hill making traction all but impossible once he got going, and as his body picked up speed and he caught a glimpse of the inevitable tree blocking his path he had just enough time to think  _oh, you have got to be kidding m-_  before he slammed into it and ceased to think at all.


	11. Chapter 11

The one good thing about the horrible cycle that he was on was that no matter how many times he or the others died, no matter in what manner, when Bilbo woke in the comfort of his bed they were all restored to the exact condition they had been in on that day, physically if not necessarily mentally for himself. It was something to be grateful for, he decided as he rose and got himself ready for his journey yet again, that even though he’d died beaten up and bloody, when he woke he felt fresh and ready to face the day, a healthy, hearty hobbit primed for adventure. What’s more, even though the experience had been absolutely awful, his head remained clear. He did not feel crushed underneath the weight of all that had happened, as he had felt before his small break in Rivendell. The peace that he had felt in that room with the pool held, and Bilbo found that he was still determined on the course he had set for himself before his encounter under the goblin caves. He was going to start looking beyond himself and begin real friendships with his companions. Even if he never found the answer to this riddle that was now his life, he didn’t want to go through it over and over with companions who despite their journey were little more than strangers.

He had a bit of a penchant for lists, and as he busied himself with the business of getting ready for his journey (this time remembering not one, but _two_ handkerchiefs) he amused himself with listing each of his companions in the order that he thought he’d be able to get to know them, easiest first.

He was fairly sure that most of the dwarves would be easy to befriend, as it seemed that they took to him easily, even before he proved his overall “usefulness” by saving their king. Bofur and Kili in particular he was sure would be the easiest, as he’d felt like they were friends almost instantly, every cycle. The others fell into varying degrees from easy to get to know to a bit difficult, with three notable exceptions: Bifur, Dwalin, and Thorin.

Bifur would be hard simply because he and Bilbo were literally speaking two different languages. Of course, the dwarf’s gestures were expansive and easy to read, but that didn’t make Bilbo any less nervous around him. Still, he’d be much easier than Dwalin, who was big and growly and had two very sharp axes that he wielded with deadly precision.

Yet even with the difficulty that those two presented, Bilbo was positive that befriending twelve of the thirteen in the Company would be as easy as breathing compared to getting to really know one Thorin Oakenshield. He knew that the reticent king would warm up to him eventually – after trolls, orcs, and elvish dungeons forced him to prove his mettle in more ways than one – but in countless repeats of the same journey they’d never really become _friends_ , and Bilbo didn’t know how to change that.

At this thought, Bilbo winced. They had become friends, hadn’t they, and then it had all been ruined once they reached Erebor. Oh, he remembered Erebor now, thanks to the bash on the head that he’d gotten in the goblin caves. He knew what he’d forgotten – he knew how the story ended.

“No”, he said aloud, startling himself out of his contemplation. “It isn’t going to happen that way. Not this time.” He had two goals, then. One was to make the most of his current situation by befriending his companions. The other, to find some way to stop a newly restored King under the mountain from going insane with gold lust and thus getting himself and his family killed. Bilbo hadn’t the first clue where to start on the second goal, but he hoped that in time, he could find a way to achieve it.

Resolve firmly in place, Bilbo once again left his comfortable home behind, running to catch up with a travelling group of dwarves and all the adventure that came with them.


	12. Chapter 12

Despite his firm belief that Bofur and Kili would be the easiest to really get to know, it was actually Balin that Bilbo came to know first. It started simply enough: the tale of Thorin’s first confrontation with Azog, the battle which proved his ability and won the devotion of at least one subject. Having heard this story enough times to be able to recite it himself, Bilbo had felt free to allow his mind to wander. He’d studied the other dwarves – how they’d all eventually sat up from slumber, their expressions moving from mild irritation at being woken to awe and respect for their leader. That they all loved him Bilbo had no doubt, but judging by their faces he saw that they had never until that moment understood just how worthy of their love their king was.   
  
Towards the end of Balin’s narration, all eyes turned to the dwarf brooding some distance away. Bilbo did not turn to look. He was far more fascinated with the way that Balin himself was looking at Thorin. There was something wistful on his face, something sad, and Bilbo suddenly realized that Balin was the eldest of the company. He had seen so much, enough that he would know the true weight that Throin had placed upon his own shoulders probably better than anyone else. He was also a magnificent orator, which brought to Bilbo’s mind the endless hours that he had spent at the feet of his elders as a young hobbit, listening with rapt attention to their stories of the days when they were younger. A wave of nostalgia so powerful it nearly bowled him over hit him, and he thought to himself that he would like nothing more than to sit with the old dwarf and listen to him talk.  
  
To this end, Bilbo shyly made his way to him the next evening when they made camp, offered some of his best pipe weed and hesitantly asked if he might mind sharing a few stories of Erebor. At this, Balin’s eyes lit up, and he’d gladly spoken at length about the beauty and glory of Erebor, how they had thrived. How young dwarves and children of men had run together, laughing and playing tag between the legs of the adults. He spoke of glittering halls, and sumptuous feasts, of family and friends and the satisfaction of owning the things that one made. He avoided any mention of Smaug and the devastation he had brought, and Bilbo never asked.  

This sharing of memories continued for some time, for once the younger dwarves who had never lived in Erebor realized what kept their burglar so enthralled with the eldest of their group, they began to listen as well, pestering him with questions of their own. Fili and Kili were eager to hear any stories of mischief, and overjoyed to hear that in their youth, Thorin and Dwalin had been pranksters enough to rival even them. Ori was entranced by the idea of Erebor’s vast library, asking dozens of questions about books and scrolls, his eyes growing dreamy as he thought of all the reading that he could do when they reclaimed their home. Even Dwalin got into the spirit of those evenings, a fond smile on his face as he recalled sparring with older dwarves and men, and dancing with pretty girls at celebrations. At this, Kili had cackled. “You, dancing? Were you even old enough to know what you were doing?” This had resulted in a small chase, ending in the laughter of the rest of the group as Kili did his best to hide, crying out loudly as Dwalin cuffed him about the head. Only Thorin’s sharp reprimand had stopped the merriment, and sent them all to their beds for the evening.  
  
The stories stopped after that, everyone sensing that they were doing nothing to cheer the spirits of the ever dour king under the mountain, and though Bilbo missed them, he understood. While the memories cheered those who had never experienced them, they must cause the ones who had pain, for they knew what they had lost. Thorin was still too wrapped in that loss to derive the same pleasure that Balin could receive from relating such tales. He wouldn’t be able to talk of Erebor with anything approaching happiness until he was once again restored to his rightful place within its walls. 

Those stories were the reason that even though Thorin still hated him, especially after he’d once again nearly fallen off the cliffs during the stone giant battle and impressed on him all the more how little he belonged with them, Bilbo could not bring himself to follow the script far enough to actually try to leave that night. Instead he stayed awake, brooding and waiting for his sword to glow blue. Near him, another pair of eyes was open, and Balin smiled when their gazes met. “Don’t mind him, laddie”, he whispered, “Thorin was worried about you, and that made him grumpier than usual.”  
  
Bilbo gave a rueful half-smile, and shook his head. “No, he was right”, he replied. “I  _don’t_  belong with you. I’m soft, and weak, and not used to so much travel. But…but I have to help. Those stories that you told us...they should have been memories that you all share. It’s not right that so few of you have them, and I’m not leaving until the others have a chance to make memories of their own in Erebor’s halls. I can’t.”  
  
Balin’s eyes glistened, and Bilbo looked away, his own eyes feeling a bit moist. He glanced down, and realized that his sword was glowing, his cue to alert the others.  

He still slipped away from them and allowed himself to fall into the dark with the lone goblin scout, hating the mix of dread and anticipation he felt at knowing he would once again be picking up a small circlet of gold and besting one of his creepiest enemies. There was a loathing for both the creature and the ring, and Bilbo told himself that he would not bother with this part of the journey were it not so very necessary. He needed the ring to get past the creature, then to fool the elves and Smaug alike. He deliberately did not think about the Arkenstone, or about the sharp burst of something that felt like joy when he picked the ring off of the ground, the soft whisper of  _mine, it’s mine again_  that went through his thoughts when it was stowed safely in his pocket once more. He confronted the creature again, the memory of what had happened last time causing him to shake more than he had on their first encounter, bested him and was soon out, running down the mountain to catch up to the rest of them.  
  
As he had every time before, he heard them arguing about where he’d gone, but this time, Balin’s voice was added to Gandalf’s in a chorus of worry. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he realized that he’d earned the old dwarf’s friendship, making it so he barely felt the sting of Thorin’s harsh dismissal. He slipped the ring off of his finger and stepped out from behind the tree, reaching out to clasp Balin’s shoulder as he beamed happily at him, relief written all over his face. Another flush of happiness at that, and Bilbo was able to look Throin in the eye as he explained, yet again, why he would be sticking this journey through to the end. The proud smile he got from his newest friend at the end of his speech made him flush and grin and then there was a howl in the distance and it was time to run, yet again.


	13. Chapter 13

Beorn’s house, as always, was a lovely rest from the problems that had come before. Even knowing what was to come, Bilbo couldn’t help but be content, fed to bursting and surrounded by the protection of the skinchanger. He’d noticed that the rest of the group seemed to feel the same, even Thorin finally relaxing enough to enjoy himself, although it was obvious that he itched to get back on the journey to retake his home.

Bilbo spent his time pleasantly. He sat and smoked with Balin often, and repaid his tales of Erebor with ones from his own childhood. He spoke of his mother, her adventurous nature and quick smiles, as well as his father, not so adventurous but steady, a smile always on his face when his mother was in the room. He traded recipes with Bombur, as they had bonded easily over being able to out eat everyone else if given the opportunity. He sparred with Kili and Fili and even taught them to play conkers, laughing and slipping away when the game turned into a brawl between the brothers. His heart felt light and he was happy, especially when he could avoid Beorn’s grasping hands. He was too polite to voice any complaints when their host was being so genial, but it was very uncomfortable, being picked up and put down at Beorn’s discretion.

Even with that irritation leaving had been hard, but the siren song of Erebor wouldn’t allow the rest to relax for very long. Bilbo had allowed himself to lag behind just a bit, to take one last look at the sprawling hall that had felt the most like home to him since leaving his own, then he’d squared his shoulders and followed the others.

Mirkwood, he’d decided firmly, would never not be a creepy place to travel. He supposed that something about it had to be inviting for Thranduil and his kin to settle there, but for his part he couldn’t see it. Perhaps it was the dense trees that allowed for very little light to shine through. Possibly it was the lack of food, or the river that caused anyone who fell in it to fall into an enchanted sleep. Perchance it was the giant spiders that had taken up residence there, spiders which had very nearly eaten him and his friends several times. Probably, Bilbo thought sourly as he followed the elves leading the rest of the company to King Thranduil, it was all of those things, combined with the wonderful hospitality of the elves of the region, that managed to make the wood such a _delightful_ place. He made sure to keep a good distance between them as he followed. The ring hid him from sight, but it would not mask his footsteps, and if he were caught he knew that there would be no hope of escape. Someone had to be free to ferry messages to everyone, after all. Someone had to procure enough barrels for the fourteen of them to ride down the river to freedom.

Unfortunately for all of them, both of those endeavors took time, so Bilbo was left at loose ends often. However, he managed to stay a step or two ahead of the elves, and kept up the spirits of the group with his messages and cheerful certainty that all would work out. He found that he was useful to all of them in some way, as being kept separately and rarely being spoken to by their captors meant that they were  often left to their own thoughts. For some this wasn’t a problem – Bilbo didn’t think that anything could dampen Bofur’s cheerfulness, and Kili and Fili did reasonably well when they’d been reassured that the other was safe – but a few would too easily fall into gloom without him prodding them out of it. Gloin especially seemed prone to despair, and Bilbo made it his mission to stop by his cell at least once a day to get him talking about his wife and son, a subject which never failed to raise his spirits. Bilbo learned more about his wife and son than he thought they’d actually want, but if it kept Gloin from losing heart he was more than willing to put up with quite a bit of uncomfortable talking. It would simply become one of the things that he never mentioned.

It was to the relief of everyone when Bilbo’s careful plans finally came to fruition. He spent the entire day before the big escape running between cells, reassuring everyone that the plan would work, that they would escape and find themselves on the last leg of their journey. He needed the reassurance to, terrified as he was of getting caught at the last minute. He knew from experience that just because a plan worked once, that didn’t necessarily mean it would work again. If he lost his focus, it could be the end of the escape attempt.

Everything went the way it was supposed to, however, and soon enough Bilbo found himself perched atop a barrel floating down the river with the rest of his friends in their own barrels. He allowed himself a great sigh of relief and gripped his own barrel more tightly. He couldn’t be seen as he was still wearing the ring, but he could very well be heard should he fall and make a splash. All the time he’d gone without a proper rest soon caught up with him, and he found himself fighting to keeps his eyes open. It was so soothing, bobbing gently through the water, secure for the first time in what felt like years that his eyes closed quite without his permission, and he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

He did not wake again until they had already arrived at the shore, and the men and elves who had deposited the barrels on the ground had left to eat supper and make merry. He stretched, feeling more than a little grateful that he hadn’t fallen over in his sleep or snored, or been discovered. He shook the last vestiges of sleep off as well as he could, and then started opening the barrels.

Once all the dwarves were out, they rested, for a few were quite waterlogged and refused to move, and the rest were dizzy and sore from being bounced about in their barrels. Really, the only one of them who seemed cheerful was Kili, and he bounded over to give Bilbo a pat on the back that nearly knocked him off of his feet. “Good work, Burglar Baggins, cleverest of the hobbits!” he cried, and the others reluctantly agreed. They were out, that was the important thing. They could now continue their journey.

When they finally decided to move, they trudged their weary way to Laketown, where their welcome at first was less than pleasant. Once the men learned who they were, though, much merriment was had, food and drink provided for all of the weary travelers.

Best of all, they provided beds, one of which Bilbo utilized as soon as he’d had a hot meal. He wasn’t feeling very well – kind of shivery and faint – and he vaguely remembered catching a horrible cold the last time they’d gotten this far. All he wanted or needed was a good rest, some good food, and something to wipe his nose, and he’d be back on his feet in no time. He crawled into bed, sneezed once, violently, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

When Bilbo opened his eyes, he was in his own bed at Bag End. He blinked, confused. How had he gotten here? He hardly remembered. The last thing he could recall with any clarity was falling asleep in Laketown, shivering and just a bit miserable despite the warmth of the bed. The cold hadn’t been that bad, surely?

Bilbo shook his head. No, the cold hadn’t been that bad, but the others had been drinking quite a bit. They’d seemed to have a very high tolerance for alcohol, but perhaps one of them had pushed it too far, and had an accident because of it. He sighed, feeling a little weary. They’d been so close, and now they’d have to start all over. _On the bright side_ , he thought, _this gives me more time to get to know the others. And I no longer have a cold._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all comments and kudos. They really brighten my day. :)

It was a bit disheartening that he was the only one who remembered the friendships that he’d managed to make on the last cycle, but Bilbo made the best of it. If he smiled a bit too warmly at certain members of the company for their brief acquaintance, it was easily explained as a hobbit thing, and soon enough those smiles and fond looks worked to make those whom they were bestowed on relax in his presence and come to like him quite as well as they had before, though Bilbo was wholly unaware of this. If he noticed that they seemed friendlier, he attributed it to spending so much time in each other’s company, sure that they’d behaved the same before he’d made befriending them one of his goals.   
  
The lack of what had made the last repeat better than bearable took its toll, as well. Without Balin’s nightly tales of home and the merriment that they brought, the group was somber, helped very little by Thorin’s penchant for growling, especially at him. Bilbo found himself less and less able to let his constant derisive gaze and remarks roll off of his back, and fairly early into the journey resolved upon finding some way to get him alone and have things out, so that he might not be forced to deal with it until Thorin once again decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.   
  
This task proved to be a difficult one, however, because while Thorin was very prone to stomping off alone to brood, others tended to follow him before Bilbo could. Finally Bilbo made up his mind to corner him after the trolls, when he had usually been in a more genial mood. Once the trolls had been dealt with, Bilbo made his way determinedly to Thorin, but found himself once again thwarted, this time by Gandalf. He barely refrained from stomping his foot in agitation, and so was not in the best of moods when he overheard their conversation – and most importantly, Thorin’s jab at his clumsiness as a burglar.  
  
“Oh, that is  _it_ ”, he said, suddenly furious. He stomped up to the surprised duo, who had obviously not noted his presence, and sliding between them, snapped up at Thorin, “I have had just about enough of this, thank you. I know you don’t particularly like me and I’m not asking you to, but you’re supposed to be a  _king_ , are you not? Were you never taught simple _politeness_ , O King? Diplomacy? Getting along with those you don't like and not always acting like a great. Big. _Bully_?” This last was shouted, complete with foot stomping, and Bilbo stopped himself, absolutely embarrassed. Thorin was gaping at him, and he could not turn around to look at Gandalf’s expression. He knew better than this, was more polite than this. What was wrong with him? He felt himself blush and his eyes skittered away from Thorin’s face.   
  
“Oh, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that, so rude. Here I am, lecturing you on manners, when I can’t even manage-“  
  
“It’s quite all right, burglar”, Thorin said, mouth twitching in what looked very much like amusement, though Bilbo couldn’t for the life of him see what was so funny. “I do suppose I deserved that. I have been rather unkind to you. Please forgive my rudeness. From now on I shall endeavor to act in a way that befits a king.” He made a slight bow and strode past the other two without waiting for a reply.

Bilbo gaped after him, stunned, and it wasn’t until he realized that Gandalf was snickering to himself that he snapped out of it. He peered up at the wizard, who was grinning down at him, eyes sparkling merrily.   
  
“Well, I do suppose that is one way to get Thorin to behave.”  
  
Bilbo blushed again. “Oh, no”, he replied hesitantly, “that isn’t what I was trying…well, not exactly.”  
  
Gandalf rested a light hand on his shoulder. “Think nothing of it. Thorin needs to be reminded that he can be too gruff on occasion. And I suppose that it has become quite tiresome, living through his surliness repeatedly.” He winked at Bilbo, who reached up to grasp his wrist, eyes wide in realization.  
  
“You…you _remember_?”  
  
The wizard covered the hand on his wrist with his own, giving it and the shoulder he still held a small squeeze. “Only our conversation in Rivendell. I am afraid that I still have no memory of any of this happening before. This journey is still my first, but I remember well what you told me, and I think I always will. Should you wish to unburden yourself at any time, Master Baggins, I will listen.”  
  
Bilbo’s eyes filled with tears, and he blinked rapidly, trying not to let them fall. Things were better than they had been before – he was no longer fatigued from these endless loops, and he was making progress with friendships, even if the others didn’t remember them – but to know that there was someone with him who knew and believed what he was going through, even if they weren’t experiencing it themselves, was an unexpected and profound relief. He nodded and beamed at Gandalf happily. He didn’t know if he would ever take the wizard up on his offer to talk, but just knowing that he  _could_  if he wished lightened his heart even more. He received another bright smile in return, Gandalf’s eyes suspiciously moist as well.   
  
“Master Baggins,” Thorin called, and Bilbo stepped back, Gandalf releasing him as he did so. The King was standing a few feet off, his gaze flicking between the both of them curiously. When Bilbo met his eyes, he offered a smile. “We are going to find the cave that the trolls must have been in. I would appreciate it if you would walk with me.”   
  
Bilbo gave a surprised blink, then nodded a timid assent. Thorin nodded back shortly, then turned and strode away. Bilbo sighed heavily and hurried to catch up, steadfastly ignoring the sound of Gandalf’s renewed chuckles behind him as he did so.

~****~

From that point on it became customary for Bilbo to travel beside Thorin, who seemed to be making a genuine effort at politeness. Oh, he was still gruff and lost in his own head more often than not, but he had cut down on the jabs at Bilbo’s softness considerably, and when one or two slid out in his frustration, he always softened it with an apology almost immediately after. This new thoughtfulness had Bilbo much more relaxed than he’d ever been before at that point in the journey, even when he’d had Balin’s stories to look forward to at night. His new relaxation in turn caused him to be less hesitant for fear of being seen as weak or useless, which had the happy effect of making it easier to travel altogether.

While Bilbo appreciated the efforts to be nicer, he felt he could do without the overprotectiveness that seemed to come with it. It was as if Thorin thought that the way to show consideration to him was to consistently step in front of him at the least threat. Bilbo was sure that he’d been through most of the journey enough times that he could reasonably get by under his own power – he’d been through the beginning so often that he felt it would be unpardonable for him not to be able to hold his own – but how could he tell that to the dwarf? He couldn’t, so he submitted grouchily to being pushed and prodded out of whatever danger presented itself. As a result poor Dori was tackled by the scouting warg for the first time in a while, and though he got up acting as if he were fine, Bilbo flinched at the trickle of blood that slid from his temple.

When the elves surrounded them at Rivendell, it was Thorin’s large hand that pulled him back, but all the dwarves took the cue from their king to ring around him, keeping him from really seeing anything. Bilbo grit his teeth and made a point of stepping backwards, trodding hard as he could on someone’s foot. The slight hiss of pain that one of the dwarves made in response calmed him a bit, and he relaxed even further when it was decided that the Company would accept Elrond’s offer of food and shelter.

Bilbo was glad for the rest, and he cornered Dori as soon as he could, doing his best to peer at the dwarf’s head around his batting hands and insistence that he was just fine, Master Baggins, truly.

“Call me Bilbo”, he said, smacking one of Dori’s hands as it tried to push him away yet again, “And you may very well be fine, but I want to make sure. You deserve to be taken care of too, you know.” At this, Dori’s ears went red but he stopped struggling, and Bilbo was able to get a good look at the scrape on his head. It was long but shallow, and it needed cleaned, and so Bilbo cadged some cloth and a small bowl of water from one of the elves, and set about doing so.

“Really Master Ba-Bilbo, you needn’t bother”, Dori muttered, and Bilbo grinned.

“No, I suppose not, but I want to, so it’ll go better for you if you just let me, all right?”

The dwarf fidgeted uncomfortably, but allowed Bilbo to gently clean his wound. He flinched slightly as dried blood was cleaned from his hair, and to distract him, Bilbo got him to start talking about his family. Dori chatted amiably about dealing with the mischievous Nori and willful Ori, and confided in a low voice that he had been worried about bringing the youngest along on the journey. “He’s only just an adult, you see, and I was afraid that this might be too much for him. But the lad is holding his own, and I’m very proud of him. He’s got no shortage of courage, that one, for all he says about only being a bit of an historian.” He cast a fond smile in his brother’s direction, then frowned. “Oh, his braids have come loose again…if you’ve finished, Master Bilbo, I need to go and see to my brother.”

Bilbo was indeed finished, and let him go with a smile and a pat on the back. “Thank you for letting me help”, he said, and Dori’s ears went red again, but he smiled back and nodded before heading for Ori with a determined look on his face. Bilbo laughed to himself and stood, bowl in hand, looking about for a place to dispose of the now dirty water.

“Look at you, mother henning Dori”, a merry voice called from his left. “Should uncle be jealous?”

“Oh, shut it, you,” Bilbo retorted, chucking the damp cloth at Kili’s head. He caught it with ease and lobbed it back, amused.

“Now that you’re done playing nursemaid, we’ve been summoned to dinner. I’m so hungry I could eat a boar!” With that he was gone, his brother following after, both of them arguing about who would get the best choice of meat when they sat down to supper. Bilbo followed at a more sedate pace, unable to keep from smirking as he thought about how disappointed the other two were going to be at all the greenery, not a bit of the hoped-for meat in sight.

He’d seated himself by Balin on every journey thus far, and he intended to do so again, but before he could he heard his name called in a gruff voice. Thorin met his eyes with a smile that still looked completely foreign on his face and gestured to the seat next to him. Bilbo stared for a moment, then made his way to the offered seat, gingerly sitting down. He didn’t know what it said about him that he was as uneasy with a nice Thorin as he was trying to sneak around an Thranduil’s prisons without being seen, but he was sure it was nothing good. His mouth quirked in amusement at the thought Thorin’s reaction should he find out whom Bilbo was comparing him to.

“And what does our burglar find so amusing?” Thorin questioned, his own lips curved into a half smile.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” Bilbo replied quickly, feeling himself flush. “I was just thinking about how…how nice it is to be able to rest for a bit, after…” he trailed off, dropping his eyes to his plate. Thorin’s expression had turned stern again, but he didn’t respond. Instead he looked at Lord Elrond and inclined his head slightly.

“I would thank you, Lord Elrond, for your hospitality. If you would allow us to intrude on you just a bit longer, I would owe you a debt.”

Bilbo’s gaze flew to Thorin in complete astonishment. This had never happened before. Next to him, Gandalf badly disguised a laugh as a cough. Thorin steadfastly ignored them both, and Lord Elrond smiled. “Gandalf is a trusted friend. And he trusts you. Ask what you will, debt free. You have no enemies here.” His eye caught the sword on Thorin’s belt. “May I?” he inquired with a gesture, and Thorin handed it over.

While they discussed the great things that Thorin and Gandalf’s swords had done in battle, Bilbo finally felt composed enough to begin eating, but he still couldn’t resist a fond glance at his own little sword. He wouldn’t ask if it had done anything worthy of a grand name – even if it had, he no longer wanted to know. _He_ had named it, and that was enough.

However, Lord Elrond caught his glance, and requested to look it over. Bilbo handed it to him, feeling a little silly as he realized that what felt and handled like a sword to him did indeed appear to be very little more than a glorified letter opener in the elf’s hands. Lord Elrond didn’t comment on the small size – in fact he looked it over as intently as he had Thorin and Gandalfs – and for that Bilbo felt a strong surge of fondness for the him, though he’d never really spoken to him on his many journeys.

“Ah. I am afraid that I do not know this one,” Lord Elrond confessed, with an apologetic look Bilbo’s way. “I do not know its name.”

Gratitude and fondness prompted Bilbo to speak. “Sting.” When he received inquiring looks from his companions, he continued, eyes fixed on the weapon that had saved his life again and again, “I named it. I – I know that for man, or dwarf, or elf, it’s a small thing, but in a hobbit’s hands it can do more damage than you’d think.”

“What I think, Master Baggins, is that you are entirely correct.” Lord Elrond passed the sword back over. “Sting you have named it, and Sting it shall be. I believe that this sword will do great things in your hands, my friend.” Bilbo stammered his thanks and took it, completely unaware how his defense of his little sword had charmed his host. Later, he would return to his room to find that a beautiful sheath had been provided him – one that included a handsome leather strap so that Sting might be more easily carried, and a friendship would begin that would endure loops of time and years of separation. It was a friendship that would bring an old, weathered hobbit to the halls of Rivendell once more, to be happily and enthusiastically welcomed by its Lord.

For the moment, though, this mutual regard led to a very pleasant dinner, and to the company at table being less tense than it had ever been, to the end that when it was time for Lord Elrond to read the map, Bilbo’s presence was requested by all, rather than being urged by Gandalf alone. He had been planning to head off on his own during this time as he already knew what the map was to say, but he was too polite to ignore an invitation, and so joined them. The map was read, Thorin kept being uncharacteristically polite, and though they still left early and without informing their host, Bilbo felt that the time spend in Rivendell had been the best yet.


	15. Chapter 15

Interesting things kept happening. As he now walked beside Thorin more often than not, Bilbo found himself in the company of Dwalin as well. He knew that it was a prime opportunity to try and befriend the warrior, but for a while he dithered. He was a bit afraid of Dwalin, to tell the truth – he was big and rough and even though he didn’t seem to dislike Bilbo, he didn’t seem to like him either – and he thought it might be just as likely that his attempts at building some sort of rapport with him would fail as succeed.

In spite of this, Bilbo finally took his courage in both hands and did the one thing that he was sure would smooth the way for a friendship – he asked Dwalin if he would teach him how to better use his weapon.

He hadn’t had a chance to pull it yet – they were still far away from the rock giants, let alone the goblin caves – but he had a notion that knowing how to use Sting would help him when he inevitably faced down the orc threatening Thorin’s head, as it was one of the few things that went nearly the same each time. Thus far he had always been lucky, having the element of surprise on his side and buying others of the company enough time to escape from their own trees and jump into the fray, but that was no guarantee it would continue to be so, and Bilbo wanted the confidence that actually knowing how to wield his weapon properly would bring.

Dwalin agreed cheerfully enough, and thus began a tentative sort of friendship. He was a hard instructor – he refused to coddle Bilbo or hold back on the logic that his enemies wouldn’t, should they get a hold of him – and often Bilbo went to sleep sore and resentful, but he still took Sting out of its new sheath whenever it was time to practice without complaint.

Like Balin’s stories, these practice sessions soon included more of the company. Kili and Fili were always keen to hone their fighting skills, and Ori, despite Dori’s faint protests, determined that he too would train, feeling that he was the weakest of the dwarves in that department. Nori delighted in haranguing everyone practicing until one of them – usually Dwalin or Kili – attacked and drew him into a mock battle as well. The others sometimes participated but always watched, happy to see that their burglar was taking his job very seriously. Even Thorin participated occasionally, showing off the skill that had taken the arm of one of his enemies and turned the tide of a battle where all had seemed lost.

These sessions often gave way to everyone sitting around a crackling fire, hungrily consuming whatever fare Bombur had provided for their sustenance, good-naturedly moaning about the aches in their limbs and promising revenge on whomever had bested them in the day’s fight. During one of these times Bilbo wound up next to Dwalin, and he mentioned in an off-hand way that the only thing that would make the evening better would be some music. Dwalin didn’t answer, but the next night the few dwarves who had brought instruments with them began to play, causing Bilbo to beam in delight.

“Oh, that was wonderful”, he enthused when the song had finished, clapping his hands.

Nori, who was sitting next to him, clapped him on the back. “You think that’s something, wait until we reclaim Erebor and he,” he jerked his thumb towards Dwalin “gets ahold of a fiddle. Then we’ll have us a _proper_ party.” He grinned at Dwalin’s blush. “Pity he’s not much of a dancer”, he added, getting up to heckle Bombur for more stew.

Bilbo turned curious eyes on Dwalin. “I would love to hear you play”, he offered. “I do so love music.”

“And you shall, little burglar, when we reclaim our home.” The answer was delivered in Dwalin’s usual gruff manner, but the smile he gave Bilbo was warm and fond. That night Bilbo slept a little easier. His muscles still hurt, but not as much, and there was the promise of lively music and good company when the journey ended. He determined that whatever happened, if this journey was the last or not, he would hold Dwalin to his promise, and he made one of his own. No matter the cost, he _would_ change the end to this journey. He would give his dear friends exactly what they needed: a reason to celebrate, instead of mourn.

The next morning found him once again walking with Thorin and Dwalin. While the latter smiled brightly and chatted companionably with him, the former was quiet and kept shooting him sideways glances. Bilbo didn’t know how to take it but tried his best to draw him out in vain. Thorin would not speak, so he eventually gave up and talked with Dwalin about music, the tunes they had in common and the ones they didn’t. Bilbo shared a harvest song of the Shire and Dwalin came back with a bawdy drinking song that had the little hobbit blushing fiercely, much to the amusement of his companion. He was in the middle of a particularly salacious verse when Thorin interrupted.

“I play too, you know.”

Bilbo turned to look at him, grateful that Dwalin had stopped singing when Thorin spoke. “Oh? You play the fiddle, too?”

Thorin shook his head. “Harp,” he said shortly, and Bilbo might have thought that it was the end of the conversation but for the fact that they had started climbing a steep hill, and they needed to save their breath for the moment.

“I’ve never heard the harp before”, Bilbo mused when they were once again on flat ground. “I should very much like to hear you play, when yo-we have retaken Erebor.”

“Of course”, Thorin answered with a regal nod, but the tips of his ears were pink. On the other side of Bilbo, Dwalin snorted. He received a glare in reply, and grinned unrepentantly, turning to Bilbo and making a point of talking up how well their king played. By the time they decided to rest for the night, he was very eager indeed to reach the end of the journey, and to hear the music that a happy end to said journey would produce. 


	16. Chapter 16

Bilbo had never thought of himself as particularly oblivious before. In fact, as he tended to find himself on the outside of most groups and conversations, he believed he’d honed his observational skills to a fine point, and was often able to pick up on subtleties that others missed. Which was why he couldn’t believe that it had taken him so long to figure out why Thorin was acting so strangely. He would have to blame it on the constant stress he was under that he hadn’t picked up on the clues – as they were plenty and far from subtle – until instead of being allowed to quietly slip away from the group in the goblin caves to retrieve his ring he found himself clasped firmly to Throrin’s side and fairly _dragged_ along to his doom. He struggled as best he could, but Thorin’s grip was strong, and he could not get away.

The path to the Goblin King was long and winding, and as he was kept from being poked and prodded with the others by Thorin’s protective arm, so he had plenty of time to go over their recent interactions and finally reach the correct conclusion. It was ridiculous, absurd, laughable. It was the only thing that made sense. Bilbo was equal parts embarrassed, flattered, and furious by this turn of events, but as the Goblin King began his spiel and he realized that he was missing his opportunity to get at the Ring, fury quickly won the day. He jerked his arm out of Thorin’s hold, scowling so fiercely that even the large Goblin in front of them paused in his taunts to raise an eyebrow.

“And what is this?” he asked, bending to peer at Bilbo. Thorin tried to move in front of him, but Bilbo in his ire was having none of it and stepped out, meeting the Goblin King’s beady eyes with a defiant glare.

“Whom, not what, and my name is Baggins”, he snapped irritably, deliberately ignoring the entire Company’s attempts to get him to shut up. The eyebrow climbed higher.

“ _You_ are not a dwarf”, he observed, pointing, and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Oh, well spotted. What gave it away?” Thorin hissed at him to shut up, and both Kili and Fili tried to maneuver themselves into a position to step on his foot. He knew that he was being reckless, but he couldn’t help it. He’d always had a bit of a temper, and when it flared he lost all his nervous fretting about consequences.

The Goblin King laughed. “Such a fierce little thing”, he said. He turned to a tiny, writing goblin on a swing next to him. “Send word to The Defiler that we have his prey. Make no mention of the little – what did it say it was? Dwobbit? Make no mention of the Dwobbit. I’m going to keep him.”

“ _HOBBIT_!” Bilbo yelled. “How hard is that to remember, you-“ what the Goblin King had just said suddenly sank in, and Bilbo felt himself go pale. He stumbled a little as all his anger drained away, leaving him feeling small and weak, and fell into Thorin. The dwarf’s arm rose to steady him, but it was an absent gesture. He was more focused on the king of the goblins, his own face devoid of color.

“No”, he rasped, voice strained with what was obviously a desperate wish for what he was hearing not to be true that immediately did away with all of Bilbo’s hard feelings. “You lie. Azog the Defiler was slain in battle long ago.”

A smirk, and the large face loomed much closer. Bilbo shrank back and closed his eyes as the large mouth opened and spoke, holding his breath against the smell of it, “So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” The Goblin King was obviously enjoying Thorin’s dismay; he sprang up and clapped his hands in delight. “Let us have a song!” He began a mad caper in front of them as he sang about Thorin’s future demise, giggling to himself and clearly relishing the thought of being the one to bring about the proud King’s end. The other goblins capered and gibbered around them, poking and prodding at the dwarves and their weapons until they uncovered Orcrist. The goblins shrieked and snarled, and the King actually flung himself back, terror in his eyes as he screamed “The Goblin Cleaver!”

Gone was the glee and merriment of moments before. The sight of the sword had thrown them all into such rage and panic that all they could think of was killing ones who had brought the threat into their midst – never mind that the sword could do no harm out of their hands as it was. Bilbo instinctively went for Sting, as the goblins had mostly overlooked him while they frisked the dwarves, sure that such a tiny creature could do them no real harm, but Thorin once again prevented that by flinging Bilbo behind him. Which of course meant that he wound up putting his stupid, defenseless head in jeopardy _again_ , and Bilbo vowed then and there that if they got out of this alive, he was going to sit the idiot down and _really_ have a go at him. _See how much he likes me then_ , he thought sourly as Thorin was thrown to the ground. _Stupid, reckless, birdbrained_ –

Sudden whiteness everywhere, and Bilbo fell, blinking against the glare in his eyes and trying to get the ringing out of his ears. He looked up, and saw the shape of a wizard, standing tall and strong with staff at the ready, shouting at them to move, _fight_. The dwarves leapt to their feet with a cry, and Bilbo followed, unsheathing Sting and bracing himself for a fight.

He didn’t get much of one. For the most part, it was a lot of running and being dragged away from angry goblins by rough dwarven hands. It seemed as if the entire Company had decided to follow Thorin’s lead when it came to Bilbo’s safety, and it got his back up all over again. There wasn’t much time for true irritation to take hold, however, as they had to keep moving to stay ahead of their pursuers. They actually gained some ground once the big Goblin King had been slain, and Bilbo began to think that they might make it out of this alive – yes, things would be very tricky without that Ring, but it could probably still be done, if he were clever, and hadn’t he been afraid of the way that he felt around that small circlet of gold anyway? Perhaps it was better that things had gone this way – when the ground suddenly opened underneath him again, but this time with no saving tumble down a slope to help lessen the impact with the earth. He fell heavily, somewhat protected from a harder impact by the few dwarves underneath him, but as he’d been carefully kept in the middle of the group for his own safety, whatever damage those below saved him was only multiplied by the damage caused by the ones falling on top of him. Dwarves are hard, hearty beings, and none of them were able to slow their descent directly onto the small, soft hobbit that they’d tried so hard to protect. Bilbo heard a crack, and there was blinding pain, but still he lived. He gritted his teeth against it and looked upward through slitted eyes, so he was the first to see the giant form of the Goblin King come tumbling down after them.

Bilbo knew what was coming. As the form above them began its descent, he took the two seconds he had left to meet the panicked eyes of Thorin Oakensheild and say conversationally, “Next time, do us all a favor and keep hating me.”  Then they were all slammed into and he was waking up in his nice, comfortable bed, back at the beginning once again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos - it makes my day to know that people are enjoying this story.

“No, no _no_. Honestly, can you not taste anything at all? Sage will hide most of the imperfections, yes, but too much of it will ruin the flavor completely. Listen to me: get some rosemary – just a bit, though. That can be as bad as sage if not used sparingly – some salt and pepper, maybe some garlic if you can find it, though honestly I haven’t the faintest idea where you might around here. Mix it together with oil or butter – no, I _don’t_ know where you’re going to get all of this, it’s hardly my problem. What you want to do, when you find all this stuff, is marinade – soak – the dwarf in it for, oh, I’d say a couple of hours at least, considering how rough they’ve obviously been living – yes, it must be that long! Look, you asked me how to do this, it isn’t as if I offered - do you want to know the proper way to cook dwarf or not? Then stop interrupting me! – a couple of hours, perhaps a day, after which you’ll…”

Bilbo didn’t look at the dwarves as he lectured the trolls. He didn’t need to – they were screaming so loudly that he was well aware of their ire. They were far more furious than he’d ever seen them at this point, but then this was the first time that he’d actually stopped and lectured the trolls on proper dwarf-preparation. They might never forgive him for this betrayal. He didn’t care.

Well, no. He cared. He cared rather a lot, but he was still very, very irritated at the way that the last loop had ended. He was mostly upset with Thorin, but knew that he couldn’t start yelling at the proud King, mostly because this version of Thorin would have not the slightest idea what he was going on about. This Thorin would lift his chin proudly and look down his royal nose at Bilbo; would tell him that he was yelling nonsense. Dwarven Kings did not get _crushes_ , and if they did, they certainly would not develop them for hapless little hobbits that were more hindrance than help. This thought had spiked Bilbo’s mild irritation into true anger, and he’d spent this journey being as annoying as it was possible to be. He talked of home in longing tones, he wandered, and he got in the way. In short, he deliberately did everything he thought might make Thorin grit his teeth and bunch his hands into fists, furious but unable to do anything about it.

The problem with this, of course, was that he wound up alienating the rest of the Company as well. They didn’t have time or patience for a companion who didn’t seem willing to even try and make the best of things. It was upsetting to see the friends he loved look at him with distaste, but Bilbo forced himself to shrug it off. Chances were good that one of them would die soon enough, and then they could start all over. The only one who would remember the loop would be Bilbo himself.

He knew that he was overreacting to what had happened the last time in the Goblin caves, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. A black mood had settled over him, one that made him angry at everybody and prone to lashing out. He couldn’t seem to snap out of it and could only hope that it would wear itself out in time.

Gandalf saved them from the trolls, then sent Bilbo away while he untied the others, concerned that there might be bloodshed. He tried to corner Bilbo after, but he managed not to be alone with the wizard. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings. He wanted to yell and stomp and throw things. He wanted to hit something.

No one wanted to walk with him. The usual cheerful mood that dominated the Company was gone, replaced with sullen, tense silence. Bilbo was viciously glad. A very small part of him was dismayed at the way that he was acting, but he shoved it aside easily. If he was going to be in a bad mood, well then he was glad that he could pass it on.

Things continued in this way until Rivendell. Bilbo skipped dinner, his irrational anger made even worse by knowing that he’d lost a beautiful sheath for his little sword all because the idiots he was with had decided he couldn’t take care of himself. By this point Bilbo was well aware that he was pouting worse than a small child, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He felt he deserved a good pout after all he’d been through, and everyone else would just have to live with it.

They were all relieved when he decided not to join them for dinner – he could see it on their faces – and that just fed into his bad mood. He laid on his bedroll for a bit, stewing, and then an idea seized him and he stood. Perhaps he could find that pool that he’d discovered before. It might help him calm down and stop being so senselessly irate…and he might run in to that elvish Lady again. With that thought in mind, Bilbo set off.

He did not find that pool, nor see the Lady, but he found that simply walking around Rivendell cooled off his temper. There was so much to look at and wonder over that Bilbo quite forgot to be angry, and soon enough the mood that he’d fallen into had disappeared completely, leaving him feeling drained and extremely ashamed. He’d been so awful to everyone – snapping at Kili and Fili, ignoring Bofur, deliberately provoking Thorin – it was no small wonder that the rest of the Company wanted to avoid him at all costs. He would have to make amends, apologize, though he was not sure that they would accept it.

It was with a heavy heart that Bilbo went back to the area that they’d chosen to sleep in, but he did not seek to change that. This was of his own making, after all. He steeled himself before entering the spacious room, but the words of apology died on his lips when he realized that everyone was already abed. He stopped, uncertain.

“We wondered if you would be back”, Thorin’s voice startled him and he jumped a little, then met the other’s gaze. His expression showed nothing, but Bilbo felt that the implication was that they’d have been better off had he not returned, and he bit his lip. Thorin sighed, then laid down, closing his eyes. “We leave before first light. I would suggest you get some rest.” The voice was gruff as usual, but there was something wary in it too, as though Thorin expected him to bite his head off for daring to speak to him. He probably did, Bilbo thought ruefully, biting his lip. He knew he should leave it alone – that his actions would mend the rifts that he had created better than anything he might say – but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“I…I know I haven’t made this journey easy, so far. I’ve been short tempered and rude. You probably won’t believe this, but I am sorry, and will do my best to be less of a…a hindrance.”

Thorin didn’t open his eyes, didn’t acknowledge his little apology in any way. Mortified, Bilbo fairly fled to his bed roll, berating himself for ever opening his mouth. After a moment, there was a heavy sigh, and Thorin spoke.

“You are soft, little hobbit, and not used to the way that we live. It is possible that we too have been remiss in our treatment of you. It is…unfair of us – of me – to expect the same resilience of you that we do ourselves. It seems we must all endeavor to do better by each other.”

Bilbo was aware that he’d been insulted in that speech, and part of him wanted to defend himself, say that he’d seen dangers that Thorin didn’t-couldn’t-yet know about. But then he’d have to explain what exactly those dangers were, and he was well aware of how fantastical his story would seem to someone who hadn’t lived it. He’d been surprised enough that Gandalf had believed him – he didn’t expect it of anyone else. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d given any of the dwarves cause to think otherwise, what with the way he’d been acting on this particular journey. Bilbo let out a small sigh of his own and settled down for the night, feeling as he did so that his earlier decision that it would be better to show his friends that he was no longer going to be the hindrance that he’d been actively working at was indeed the best choice. He fell asleep quickly for the first time since he’d started this repetition, completely unaware that more than one set of eyes had been open in the dark.


	18. Chapter 18

As the journey continued, things began to improve between Bilbo and the other dwarves. They seemed willing enough to take his change of heart at face value and accept him again, even the grumpier ones like Dwalin. If they weren’t as friendly as they’d been before, well, that was only what he’d earned, he told himself, what with his surliness and his deliberate attempts to be as irritating as possible. Still, the caution with which the rest of the Company treated him was making him more and more miserable, to the point that when he found himself in possession of the ring once more, he honestly considered abandoning them to their fate for the first time. He was tired of these loops, tired of having to repeat the same things over and over and without ever really making any headway. He realized now that his anger hadn’t really been with Thorin and the others for wanting to protect him – it had been borne from the knowledge that when the inevitable happened and time was reset, they would cease to want to. His fury had been at always falling short of his ultimate goal, and never being allowed to keep the friendships that had come to mean so much to him. He had to start from the beginning every time, had to earn the trust of his dearest friends over and over again, and it was wearing on him. He was no longer angry, but he was weary, and for a brief moment he imagined turning his back on it all and simply walking away.  
  
He couldn’t do that, though. The truth of it was that it was no matter if his companions were his friends, because he was theirs, and he could no more leave them to face what was coming without him than he could cut off his own hand. He needed to see this through, no matter the cost. But oh, it was so painful.  
  
Bilbo forced himself to rally and make his way back to his companions. They were speaking of where he had gone, as they always did, but there was an undertone of bitterness to their voices that he had grown unaccustomed to. It halted him in his tracks and he listened with wide eyes as the Company grumbled about him. He peered around a tree carefully, forgetting in the moment that he couldn’t be seen.  
  
“Figures,” Dwalin rumbled. “That hobbit has been nothing but trouble since we met him. It’s not surprising that he’d run off at the first opportunity. Hasn’t he said all along that he’d rather not be here? I say good riddance.”  
  
The others nodded their agreement, and Bifur made a few gestures that made the watching Bilbo fear for parts of his anatomy when he revealed himself.  _But why should you?_  He suddenly thought as the complaints about him started to rise in volume.  _Why help them when they so obviously don’t want you? Just leave them to their fate – you needn’t be caught up in it any longer. Use the Ring. Use it to hide and perhaps when Thorin meets his death you will be spared the curse of this cycle. That is the key. The Ring will help you. You don’t need them._    
  
He didn’t like these thoughts. He did his best to push them out of his mind, but they hovered, persuasive. Perhaps he  _could_  use the mysterious ring to end the repetition, to somehow hide away from the fate that had befallen him. His fingers curled into the bark of the tree and he rocked on his toes, torn between giving in to the urge to hide and the desire to stay and help. The yelling of the dwarves became nearly unbearable as his treacherous thoughts kept whispering for him to _run, run, runandhidedoitdoitnow-_  
  
“ENOUGH!” Gandalf’s voice rang out fiercely, heavy with power, and instantly everything within range quieted – both within Bilbo’s head and without. The old wizard’s back was turned to him, but his head was bowed as though he were as exhausted as Bilbo. “I do not believe - I  _cannot_  believe - Bilbo would abandon you. Not unless it were out of his power entirely to return.”

“Ha!” cried Kili, always the most hot tempered. “Dwalin is right; he’s done nothing but talk of home and hearth since he joined us, nothing but cause as much trouble as possible. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that he’s already halfway back to his precious Shire, no matter that he told Thorin that he would try to do better-“  
  
“Kili”, Thorin said quietly, and Kili shut his mouth. Bilbo looked at the King, and was startled to see no anger in his face, only sadness. “That is enough. It doesn’t matter. Whether Mr. Baggins has left us by choice or no, there is no turning back.” He closed his eyes briefly, and when they opened there was determination shining out of them once more. “We must press on.” With that, he turned to leave, the others following. Gandalf was the last to start moving, and as he began to walk, he turned and glanced behind him, his eyes scanning the trees hopefully, willing their hobbit to appear. This last look back shattered Bilbo’s indecision, and he scrambled from his hiding spot, yanking the ring off of his finger and calling, “Wait! Wait for me, I’m here! I’m coming!”  
  
When he caught up with them, Gandalf beamed, and he thought he saw Bofur’s mouth twitch, but the rest stared at him stonily. Bilbo bit his lip uncertainly. “I-I’m here.” He said lamely, then fell silent. Thorin regarded him steadily for a moment, then nodded once before turning away and resuming his walking. The others seemed willing enough to follow his lead, but Kili refused.  
  
“No,” he said stubbornly, shaking off the restraining hand that Fili had put on his shoulder. He glared at Bilbo, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you just go back? You clearly want to. So why bother with us?”  
  
The other dwarves shifted uncomfortably at his bluntness, but none contradicted him. Squaring his shoulders, Bilbo met Kili’s stare. “Because I meant what I said to Thorin. I’ve let my own misery cloud my judgment, so much that I forgot to think of yours. It was wrong of me, and for that I am sorry.” He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Thorin was right. I’m weak compared to you, and unused to such hardship as we have experienced, but I…I want to help. I want to be worthy of the trust that you have given me, by listening to Gandalf and having faith that I can help you reclaim your home. Even though I was awful at the beginning of this journey, even though I still miss my home and garden and books, I will not abandon you on this quest. Not willingly, not ever.” He met each of the dwarves eyes in turn, his gaze landing on Thorin as he finished, “That is a promise.”  
  
There was silence for a moment, then Kili grinned. “Well, alright then.” He started to say something else, but a warg howled in the distance, and they had to get down to the business of not dying, yet again.   
  
Much later, after the fight in the forest and the rescue by the giant eagles, when they were settled comfortably with Beorn and unafraid for the first time in a while, Bilbo awoke to the sound of snoring dwarves, with Kili drooling on his arm and Fili’s foot pressed painfully into his back, realized that he had been completely forgiven, and smiled.   


~****~

Bilbo tried to be extra vigilant as the journey stretched on, determined that he would see this one to its end, but he had once again forgotten to factor in twelve other personalities when he made his calculations regarding what actions to take. As a result, they were still captured by the elves, and still imprisoned for days on end, with Bilbo doing his best not to be seen sneaking messages for the Company and food for himself while they all waited for the opportunity to escape.

He was still miserable and terrified, but he managed to push both of those feelings aside to keep Gloin’s spirits up, to entertain Kili and Fili with stories from his rather wild youth, and to reassure Dori that Nori and Ori were both being fed and staying in good spirits. Oddly enough, when he felt that he could no longer keep up the cheerful façade he found the most solace in visiting Thorin, who spoke mostly to enquire about his people but was otherwise silent. Bilbo found it calming, and when there was nothing to be done but wait and he felt so useless that he was ready to scream he often headed to Thorin’s cell to sit quietly and breathe deeply, feeling like he might be the only one to understand the pressure that Bilbo was under.   
  
As the days went by, the silence turned to stilted conversation, which was soon followed by an easier rapport. Neither slept very well for fear of what might happen if they did, and it was only natural that after a while the silence would become stifling. For the first time, Bilbo saw Erebor through Thorin’s eyes, and the king in turn heard stories of his mother and father – stories he had not shared with the Company due to their melancholy air. It was on one such night that Bilbo discovered the full story behind the fall of the once great kingdom. Thorin spoke haltingly of his grandfather’s great love of treasure and how that had doomed them, and Bilbo didn’t interrupt, not even to offer sympathy, sensing that if he said anything Thorin would clam up. He was no stranger to the need to confess – he’d told Gandalf everything about the repeating stretch of time because of that need – and he knew that the proud King needed to let go, needed to be able to talk to someone not his subject, so that he could allow himself a moment of weakness. Bilbo was willing to be that someone.  
  
After he had finished telling Bilbo of the fall of Erebor, they were both quiet for a time. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but Bilbo found himself wondering if he should say something, should acknowledge what he’d been told. Just as he opened his mouth to do so, Thorin spoke, his voice nearly inaudible.   
  
“Gold sickness is very common amongst dwarves. We like the look of shiny things – like to pull them out of the earth and make beautiful objects out of them. Yet with that love often comes obsession. I fear sometimes that I will repeat my grandfather’s mistakes. That I will lose sight of what is right because of the lure of gold and power.”   
  
Bilbo chewed the inside of his cheek nervously, thinking about what the future held for Thorin. His memories of what had happened on the very first journey were far less clear than the more recent ones, but one stood out clearly no matter how many cycles he repeated: the memory of being dangled over a cliff, suspended there by a furious, gold-mad King Under the Mountain. He knew that at least once, Thorin had succumbed to the sickness that had plagued his grandfather, and that had been his downfall. 

He had to tell him. Perhaps that would change things, or at least make Thorin think twice about how valuable his shining possessions were to him when history inevitably repeated itself. Yes, he would tell him, and hopefully it would help to set things right.   
  
“Thorin, there’s something-“  
  
“Shh! Do you hear that? Someone’s coming! Quickly, hide!”  
  
Sighing irritably at the interruption, Bilbo slipped on his ring and disappeared – and not a moment too soon, as shortly after he did two elves entered Thorin’s cell to collect him for another conference with their king. Bilbo made to follow them but was distracted by some others speaking of needing to send wine barrels to Laketown, after which there was serious planning to be done, and Bilbo quite forgot his earlier intent to speak to Thorin regarding his troubling memories.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have all day tomorrow to get caught up with myself! *dances* It's a goal, a goal, I have a goal. Thank you again for the kudos and comments, they really do put the biggest smile on my face.

Thorin had completely lost his mind. The gold sickness had caught hold of him just as Bilbo remembered, and he spent most of his time prowling around the massive piles of treasure, insisting that the Arkenstone would be found soon if they looked just a little longer, tried just a little harder.   
  
The weight of the precious stone in his pocket seemed to increase in the King’s presence, the guilt he felt over hiding it from him a constant hum in the back of his mind. Still, Bilbo did not relinquish it. He liked the gem, it was true, and often took it out when he was alone to admire how pretty it looked sparkling in the light of his candles, but he was keeping it from Thorin for another reason as well. He was terrified that releasing the Arkenstone into his care would only strengthen Thorin’s pride and determination to refuse to share the mountain’s riches with either the men or elves. Bilbo could sort of understand. The gold and jewels were the King’s birthright, and therefore his to distribute as he saw fit. Then again, what did shiny baubles and trinkets matter in the face of the war that would surely break out if Thorin refused to get his head out of his own rear end? Also, Azog was coming with an army of his own, though no one aside from Bilbo was privy to that information just yet. They didn’t have time for pride and greed.  
  
Bilbo knew what he’d done the first time. He’d taken the pretty Arkenstone to the leader of the Lakeshore men to use as a bargaining chip with the stubborn King, and it had worked. It had also led to Bilbo’s banishment from the side of his friends, reconciled only on Thorin’s deathbed. He did not want that. The thought of Thorin – of any of his friends – dying in the last battle filled him with a panic so strong it was nearly paralyzing. It hardly made sense considering how many times he’d had to repeat his journey because of death – he’d actually lost count at some point – but he had an uncomfortable feeling that once they reached the last point he could remember, to die there was to die permanently, and he didn’t want that for any of them. The last battle had been where everything began, after all. It made a horrible kind of sense that it should be where everything ended as well.   
  
He had to think, and he had to be careful. Giving the Arkenstone to Bard still seemed like the best option, considering Thorin’s current state of mind. The others were hardly any better – only Kili and Fili seemed to be keeping their heads in the face of reclaiming their home and treasure, and Bilbo felt that even they were not to be trusted with the secret he carried in his pocket.   
  
There was also the option of keeping the stone and running away. Bilbo tried very hard not to think that way, but he did admit – only to himself – that the thought was tempting. Perhaps too much so. Despite his heroism along the journey – and most of the ones that came before it – Bilbo felt that he would still rather run and hide than face the danger that was coming. He found it almost too easy to tell himself that he had every right to leave. A persuasive voice in the back of his mind whispered that he’d fulfilled his contract, fulfilled it many times over, and he no longer owed the Company anything.  _You needn’t stick around until the end_  this voice whispered,  _You’ve done your part, saved them over and over again and for what? To repeat the same moments over and over and never receive any credit, to have to live with their scorn renewed every time. You’ve well earned the right to run, and you should take it. Take the Arkenstone and go. Use the ring. They’ll not realize you’ve left until you’re long gone. Go. Go._  He’d resisted so far, but he was terrified that if he failed to make a decision for much longer, he wouldn’t be able to. That voice would win and he would run.  
  
He wished Gandalf were there, but the wizard had left them to do his own business and there was no calling him back. He would appear precisely when it was time and no sooner, no matter how hard Bilbo hoped for it. The truth was that this part of the journey was solely Bilbo’s to weather. It was completely up to him how to handle Thorin’s sickness.

The problem he kept stumbling over was that he couldn’t see a different solution than the one he’d taken the first time around, and that led to banishment and the death of some of his dearest friends. He’d vowed not to let that happen. So he delayed making a decision and stayed out of the way of the others, mind working feverishly on a puzzle that seemed to have no answer, miserable and scared.   
  
In the end he decided to take the Arkenstone to Bard. He probably could have stayed forever indecisive, were it not for Kili and Fili. Of all of the dwarves they had been the most resistant to Thorin’s sickness, still insisting on regular meals and laughter even as the rest of the Company tried to ignore those needs in favor of looking, always looking for the one treasure that they had not yet found. They were often the ones to come and find Bilbo wherever he was hiding and pull him out, teasing him for getting lost in the vast halls of Erebor. As long as they stayed the rambunctious, boisterous young dwarven lads that Bilbo had first met, he could convince himself that they could eventually get their uncle to see reason. If their eyes were becoming more shadowed and their glances at the treasure became more longing, Bilbo told himself that it was due to fatigue. They would be okay, and everything would work out.   
  
Then one day they did not come to find him. Bilbo did not want to go looking for them, for he knew what he would find. Sure enough, when he finally gathered enough courage to go looking he found them knee deep in treasure, searching fruitlessly for the stone that weighed heavier than ever in his pocket. Thorin spotted him and beckoned him over, smiling widely. Even though he’d rather not, Bilbo went to him, and was presented with a coat of mail more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen. He shook his head, swallowing the guilt of what he knew he had to do.   
  
“I can’t accept this”, he said softly, pushing the hands that held the mail away gently. “Please do not ask me to.”  
  
“Of course you can. You have earned this, and more. Do not think that I have forgotten what you have done for us, Master Baggins. Once we find the Arkenstone and return it to the throne, you will have the fourteenth of the treasure you were promised. We will restore Erebor to its former glory, and you will walk its halls and finally understand why we needed it back so badly.”   
  
“Th-thank you, Thorin. But I don’t need gold or presents or…or seeing Erebor restored to its former glory to understand why you love it so.” Thorin’s expression darkened and Bilbo hastened to clarify, “No, that came out wrong. What I mean is that this is your  _home_ , Thorin. That is why you love it, and I understand that perfectly. And I helped you not for treasure, or gifts, but because you are my  _friend_. You all are.”   
  
“And you are ours,” the king replied. “So as a friend, you should accept the gifts we want to give. In friendship, if nothing else.” Thorin pushed the coat forward again, forcing Bilbo to take it with hands that trembled.  
  
For the first time since they’d started hunting for the Arkenstone, Thorin’s eyes shone with real warmth. He was pleased that Bilbo had accepted his gift, and Bilbo prayed that he could use this momentary return of the old Thorin to his advantage. “Then I will. But I must ask something of you as well…as a friend.”   
  
“Ask, and you shall have it, if it is within my power to give it to you.”

_Deep breath, Baggins, and say it._  “All this searching – I mean – what I mean to say is – can’t you start the rebuilding now? If you ceased the search for the Arkenstone…”  _You’re scaring me. I’m so, so worried for all of you. Please, please stop?_  He couldn’t finish. Thorin’s warm expression had grown cold, and as Bilbo’s sentence trailed off, he turned away, saying sharply over his shoulder, “I see that you do  _not_  understand, for if you did you would not say such a thing. Take your gift and go if you will not help. Once we recover the Arkenstone, we will find a way to get you home as soon as possible.”  
  
Stung, Bilbo looked around, trying to catch a pair of friendly eyes. The only pair he did meet was Fili’s. The dwarf shook his head sadly, and said, “You truly don’t understand, Master Baggins.” Then he too turned away. The rest of the company would not look at him, and Bilbo finally gave in to the inevitable. He would take the stone to Bard.   
  
That night he offered to take the watch from Bombur, hinting strongly that he was doing so because he had finally understood the need to find the Arkenstone. Bombur was willing enough to believe this, and took off to resume the hunt with a hearty clap to Bilbo’s shoulder that very nearly knocked his feet, declaring that he had always known he would come around. “Once we have it back, everything will work out, you’ll see”, he said earnestly, and Bilbo nodded and forced a smile.   
  
He waited for a while after Bombur had left, not because he had second thoughts but because he wanted to make sure that none of the others were going to come to see him and offer words of happiness that he had finally come to his senses. None came, however, and after three quarters of an hour he felt safe enough to slip on the ring and steal into the night.  
  
The ring made things difficult. It had gotten to the point where he both loathed and loved wearing it – on the one hand, it rendered him invisible and had made it possible to confuse Smaug, sneak around and help his imprisoned friends, and engender his escape from the creepy Gollum. On the other, there was something  _slimy_  about the way he felt when he put the shiny gold circlet on his finger. Awful, greedy thoughts seemed to be closer to the surface when the ring was being used, and though he’d been tempted to take the Arkenstone and run before, with the ring on the temptation was near irresistible. The only thing that kept his path to the Men was the unease that wearing the ring brought him. That and his love for his friends, which the siren song of the ring could not quite mute.   
  
What Bilbo didn’t admit to himself – and perhaps didn’t actually know – was that the ring was working on him as an addiction. Putting it on was sweet relief that calmed him and even made him feel a more than a bit of pleasure – it was  _good_  to be invisible, to be unnoticed and unremarked. He  _liked_  the feeling, and missed it sorely when it came time to take it off. He did not know this – and he would have been appalled to find out – but the ring had already worked on him to the point that he would not let it go easily. Still, hobbits are hardy creatures, and while the ring was precious to him, it was perhaps less so that it should wish. Bilbo still valued friendship and comfort far beyond what the ring could provide, and it was this more than anything that made him the only being of his present company that could carry the ring as long as he had without being taken completely.  
  
When he reached the Men’s encampment – far closer than he would have liked, though he was grateful that the nearness would grant him a swifter journey back to the mountain – he slipped easily through the guards standing watch and made his way straight to Bard’s tent. He was tired, his fear was returning, and he wanted nothing more than to have the deed finished so that it would soon be over one way or the other. He was exhausted, and even if Thorin once again banished him for his betrayal, at least he would have the knowledge that he had done  _something_  to keep his friends from a senseless battle to comfort him, though as far as he remembered the comfort had been a very cold one, indeed.

To say that Bard was shocked to meet with the little Halfling of the Dwarves' Company would be an understatement, but as Bilbo had drawn no weapon and was in fact offering him a solution to war, he was willing to listen. The last thing that he wanted was to war with the dwarves. He knew that with the elves on his side he would beat them, but this knowledge left a sour taste in his mouth. The people of Dale and those of Erebor had been friendly before Smaug had come, and he sincerely wished to be again. He listened with sympathy as Bilbo described the gold sickness that Thorin was under, and his eyes widened when Bilbo offered the Arkenstone to him, insisting that he use it to barter with the stubborn King Under the Mountain. “I know he will listen if you have this,” Bilbo said earnestly. “It’s all he cares for at the moment, so he will have no choice.”  
  
Bard took the stone from the little hobbit’s fingers, gazing at it thoughtfully. “You have taken a great risk to come here this night, Master Baggins”, he said. “Surely you cannot expect that you will suffer no ill consequences for it.”  
  
Bilbo’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Oh, no. I know what awaits me when I return. But this has to end, and I can see no other way to make it so.”  
  
Almost despite himself, the bowman was charmed by such determination, and he bid Bilbo not go back at all, but rather stay under his protection. “That I cannot do, but I thank you for the offer”, the little hobbit replied, squaring his shoulders. “I am their friend, whether they choose to remember it or not. I did this for them, and I will not hide away from the choice like a coward.” Once he might have done, but not now. Not with too many journeys to count under his belt. He was a very different hobbit from the one who had taken the first step outside his front door so, so long ago. He would not run from his decision.   
  
Bard nodded, having expected as much from the set of the hobbit’s shoulders as they had talked. He turned the Arkenstone over in his hand. “This is a very pretty gem, and would garner me a fair price should I decide to sell it. Perhaps there is one out there who would pay a handsomer price than even your king.” He kept his head down as if he were studying the object he held, but watched Bilbo from the corner of his eye.   
  
He had stiffened at Bard’s words, and glared. “That is not why I brought it to you”, he said sharply. “I brought it so that you might have a way to bargain with Thorin when next you meet. I did so in good faith, and if you intend to sell it to the highest bidder I will take it back right now and give it to its rightful owner.”  
  
Bard smiled unpleasantly. “Do you really think you can take this back from me by force?” he asked, raising the Arkenstone so it caught the light from his candles. “I think you overestimate your skills, Master Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo returned the smile. “I think that it is you who is underestimating my abilities. You would not be the first one that I have had to steal something from on this journey, and I will tell you now, if you plan to sell that gem you will do better to kill me now, for I will do all that is in my power to make sure you never get the chance.” The little hobbit’s eyes glowed with conviction, and Bard smiled for real.  
  
“I intend to do exactly as you bid me, my dear halfling. Pray, forgive me for intentionally making you angry – I admit I was curious to see how far your loyalty went. It was unjust of me.”   
  
Bilbo sniffed. “Yes, it was. Are you satisfied, then? Sir?”

“Come now, don’t stay angry. I do apologize most sincerely. It is only that I am tired, and have had precious little to feel happy about of late. The faith you have shown your friendship this night is refreshing, and in my delight I am afraid I got a bit carried away. It won’t happen again.” Bard stretched out a hand and after a small hesitation, Bilbo took it with a soft huff. “There. Now we are friends, and if your king should react…unfavorably…once he learns what has transpired here know that you will always have a place with us.”  
  
“Thank you. It is very possible that I will need that place after your next meeting with Thorin. But for now I take my leave.”  
  
Bard stood and followed Bilbo out of the tent. “I will delay our meeting until sunset tomorrow. That should give you enough time to rest after your journey. Are you sure that you will not stay?” Bilbo replied that he would not, and Bard sighed. He did not think that the meeting with Thorin Oakenshield would go well, and he was intelligent enough to guess that it would go worst for his new friend. “Thank you, Master Baggins,” he said, making a slight bow, then allowed him to leave, watching him until he melted into the darkness, so suddenly it was as if he had disappeared.


	20. Chapter 20

As he neared the mountain, Bilbo reluctantly slipped the ring off of his finger. A part of him had wanted to run away while he still had the chance – he was not fool enough to believe that Thorin’s wrath would be any gentler than it had been before, no matter how friendly they had gotten along the different journeys. He did catch himself wondering with amusement if he could have gentled things by trying to incur a repeat of Thorin’s interest in him, but decided that it would probably only make things that much more complicated, as the betrayal Thorin would inevitably feel could only cut that much deeper if he believed himself infatuated.   
  
Just before the entrance, a shape unfolded itself from the shadows. Bilbo slowed, but did not draw his sword. He had expected something like this, after all.  
  
“Gandalf”, he said, inclining his head.  
  
The wizard smiled. “Every time I think I understand you, my dear Bilbo, you always manage to surprise me. This is an interesting turn of events, to be sure.”  
  
“Not  _that_  interesting”, Bilbo muttered. He hoped he spoke too low for the wizard’s ears, but based on the huff of amusement his comment received, he doubted it. Speaking normally, he offered, “The last time we did this you met me on the outskirts of the Men’s camp. How did you get ahead of me?”

“Ah, is that so? Whatever the past, when I noticed you enter Bard’s tent I confess that I was curious enough to pay attention. It occurred to me that there could only be one reason that you were visiting the Men so late at night – and that it might be best if I were to meet you closer to your return destination. I hastened here before you’d finished, and have only been waiting for you to catch up.”  
  
Bilbo fidgeted uncomfortably. One of the reasons he’d used the ring after leaving Bard had been to avoid this very conversation. It had been pleasant enough the first time, but then that had been before Bilbo had been forced into repeating the same months again and again. He had an idea that Gandalf would no longer be so cheerful about what he’d done.  
  
Sure enough, the wizard’s brow was furrowed in concern. “I cannot say that I disapprove of your actions. In fact, I believe that you might have done the only thing that will prevent the battle that is sure to ensue if Thorin remains stubborn. However, I am truly concerned for what you might face because of that decision.”  
  
Bilbo had had enough. It was one thing for Bard to caution him about what he was doing, but for  _Gandalf_ , who knew some of what Bilbo had been through, to act like he had betrayed his friends lightly was just too much. “I should think, Gandalf, that you of all people would understand just how aware I am of what I will be facing come the ‘morrow”, he said stiffly, drawing his height up the best he could despite his weariness. He was rather furious. Did the wizard not think that Bilbo had already exhausted every option?   
  
Gandalf gave a heavy sigh, and nodded. He clasped Bilbo’s shoulder. “I misspoke. I know that you did not make this decision lightly. It’s only that I would rather that you had not had to make it at all.” He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder once, then backed away, pulling the brown hood of his traveling cloak over his head. “The future will bring what it must, my friend, and I must hasten to see that we are prepared for it. I will try to return before the Men.”

With that, Gandalf strode away, soon melting into the darkness as effectively as if he owned a ring of invisibility himself. Bilbo watched him leave, his heart feeling inexplicably lighter for the conversation. Soon enough he headed inside the mountain, very determinedly not thinking of anything aside from a finally being able to rest for the night. He hastened to find the next dwarf on watch, hating the happy glint in every pair of eyes that met his, knowing that said happiness would turn to furious hatred the next day. He could not meet Thorin’s eyes at all and pled a need to sleep that had him clapped on the back and sent cheerfully towards bed, where he curled up miserably and tried not to think of the terrifying day to come.   
  
He did eventually fall asleep, and woke to a very merry Bombur shaking him to inform him of breakfast. Bilbo had actually been dreaming of that very meal, so he was quite grateful to have it, happy that though Bombur had caught the gold fever to some degree, it had never interfered with his appetite. Bilbo ate heartily, for the moment forgetting of the day’s troubles in favor of tucking in to a good meal with a friend.   
  
After breakfast, Bombur went to resume the fruitless search for the Arkenstone, bidding Bilbo come as well. He shook his head, his delicious breakfast churning in his stomach as his nerves and guilt returned full force. He could not go and pretend to look for something that he knew would not be found. He could not bear to lie to his dear, dear friends any more than he had to. He cursed Bard’s thoughtfulness in staying away, wishing mightily that he had insisted that they come at first light to get the thing over with. At the same time he was grateful for the delay, for even though he didn’t have the courage to face them directly he was thankful for all the time he had when they did not despise the very sight of him.   
  
He hid away in his own misery for nearly half the day before he shook himself.  _I thought that you had decided not to be a coward,_  he told himself with no little anger.  _I thought that you were going to face your decisions head on and not hide away, terrified. You don’t have the faintest idea how this will end and yet you sit here, trembling and hiding away when you should be taking this time to be with your dear friends. Bard gave you a gift. Do not squander it._  After this pep talk he squared his shoulders and set off to make the most of the rest of the time he had.  
  
It was hard pulling his friends from their treasure hunt, but not as hard as he’d imagined, and Bilbo managed to spend a few minutes with all of them as the day progressed. He tried to make these little visits sound as little like farewells as possible, and for the most part he succeeded. Though he wanted to cry and yell and demand that they all come to their senses so that he needn’t lose them, he kept himself cheerful and did his best to impress on them all how much they meant to him. If they thought it odd that he was acting in such a way, they didn’t mention it, and truth be told most of their attention was focused on the gold, so that when they  _did_  notice something they just put it off to the same worry that they were all feeling over the Arkenstone and the greedy Men and Elves who would take their rightful treasure.   
  
Soon enough there was only Thorin to talk to, and once again Bilbo felt his courage failing. Somehow or another they’d become very close during this particular journey, and Bilbo knew that the gruff king counted him as one of his dearest friends. This of course both pleased and mortified him – he knew that a true friendship, one that they hadn’t had the first time they’d gone through this, would only make Thorin’s feelings of betrayal worse when he learned just what Bilbo had been doing the night before. Still, he wanted to have one last discussion without that betrayal between them.

He found Thorin where he always seemed to be of late: in the throne room, gazing mournfully at the space where the Arkenstone had once sat, casting his eyes about in the vain hope that they might catch sight of the jewel. This image tried to destroy Bilbo’s courage again, but he would not let it. He approached with a smile, and felt another stab of guilt at how happy Thorin looked to see him – and to see him wearing the beautiful mithril coat he’d been gifted with the day before.   
  
“The mail looks good on you,” he said softly.   
  
Bilbo nodded. “Thank you. I still think it too handsome a gift, but I know better than to try and go against your stubborn nature, so I will only smile and say that it does indeed fit well.”  
  
Thorin laughed. The dwarves nearby looked up at the sound and cast fond smiles their way before sifting once more through the piles of gold. Thorin watched for a moment before turning back to Bilbo, amusement still writ large on his face.  
  
“So you have finally learned to allow me my way, have you?”  
  
Bilbo felt his own smile fade. “About some things, yes,” he replied seriously, “but in others I find that I must trust my own judgment...even if it goes against yours.”  
  
Thorin frowned at him. “I suppose that is fair. You are not my subject, after all. Hobbits owe their allegiance to no one…”  
  
“That’s true, I suppose. We have sworn fealty to no king. But, surely you must know. Even. Even though I swore no oath, pledged no service…you  _are_  my king.” Bilbo blushed as he said it, but held his head high. It was true, after all. Thorin’s grumpy expression became pleased once more, and Bilbo was tempted to leave it at that. He went on, however. “But first you’re my friend. I know it should probably be the other way, but we hobbits are odd creatures and cannot value anything more highly than our friendships. Which…which can cause us to do things that might make it  _seem_  as though we do not care, for the good of our friends…”  
  
He could not go on. Thorin was grinning down at him now with such fondness that the words were stopped in his throat. He swallowed them down as he was thumped companionably on the back. “I suppose you mean for this little speech to give you leave to criticize me,” he replied, “and now it is my turn to tell you that you have it.” That said, he took his leave, heading off to join again in the hunt for his birthright.  
  
Inwardly, Bilbo sighed. He was fairly certain the leave Thorin had just granted him would not extend to stealing his most precious object, and was uncomfortably aware that the entire conversation he’d just had with his king would only make things worse for him, come the sunset.

The closer the day got to Bard’s predicted arrival, the more jittery and nervous Bilbo felt. He took to staring out of the mountain, hunting for a glimpse of the Men and Elves he knew must be heading their way. Sure enough, just as the sun touched the horizon, a runner came barreling towards the mountain, sending word that the leader of his company requested an audience with its King.   
  
Thorin granted the request, wondering aloud if it could be his cousin Dain already. Bilbo clutched his hands together to stop their trembling, and waited. Soon, a small group of Men and Elves was standing before them, Bard and the Elf King of Mirkwood at its head. Bilbo searched for a lone figure in a bulky brown cloak, but did not see one. He twisted his hands. He did not feel safe without the wizard there.  
  
Calmly, Bard once again asked for the compensation he and the Elves were owed for the destruction Smaug had wrought on them. He spread weaponless hands and told Thorin in measured tones that he would be friends with the King, if he would but relent and allow that the gold and silver should be theirs for the part they played in the destruction of the dragon. “We were friends once, Dale and Erebor. I should very much like to be again.”  
  
Thorin hesitated. His eyes flicked to the side briefly, and met Bilbo’s. Then they looked at King Thranduil, standing next to Bard. His mouth was curled into a faint sneer, and it was plain on his face that he held nothing but contempt for Thorin and his Company. He did not expect Thorin to relent. As quickly as the hesitation had appeared, it was gone, and Thorin’s face and voice showed nothing but pride as he once again refused. “You did not seek to help us when the dragon came and took over our home, and yet when we reclaim it you would have us share the treasure that is rightfully ours. I say to you what your refusal to help us in our time of need spoke loud and clear: make your own way.”  
  
Thranduil’s sneer was no longer faint. “As I expected. Your pride will be your undoing, Thorin Oakenshield.”  
  
Bard, however, merely gave a small, rueful smile. He looked at Bilbo, and the look was so full of apology and regret that the little hobbit could have wept. “As you wish,” he replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. “It appears that I have no choice. You say that there is nothing that could persuade you to part with your gold, O King, and to this I ask: what of the Arkenstone of Thrain? Would you part with your precious treasure for that?” Without waiting for Thorin’s reply, he pulled the Arkenstone out of his pocket, holding it aloft so that it caught the fading light of the sun and sent sparks arcing all over the ground.   
  
Thorin stared. He visibly shook himself. “That jewel is mine by birthright, not by gold and silver,” he said, his voice low and deadly, “Tell me, sir, how came you by it? Did you sneak into this very mountain and take it? Thief!”  
  
“I am no thief, and I would return that which is yours if you would but give us what is ours. We need not quarrel; it should not have come to this.”  
  
“I ask again”, and now Thorin’s voice was trembling with barely suppressed rage. Despite himself, Bilbo took a step away on legs that threatened to collapse, “ _How. Came. You. By my Arkenstone_?”   
  
Bard said nothing. Bilbo took what was left of his courage in both hands and said in a small voice, “it was me. I brought it to him.”

Thorin turned furious, hate-filled eyes to him, and in that moment, Bilbo saw murder in their depths, and was terrified. “You. After everything, you. Little hobbit. Miserable, cursed little burglar.” Almost before Bilbo could blink his coat was seized in large, strong hands and he was shaken back and forth like a rag doll, his feet kicking helplessly. “I should kill you right now for this betrayal!” Thorin yelled, and faintly, Bilbo heard mutters of agreement from the others. Not all – over the shoulder of the irate king his terrified eyes noted Bofur shaking his head rapidly, Kili and Fili clutching each other in fright, looking far more worried about a so-called traitor than they ought. Dawlin took a step forward and lifted a hand to restrain Thorin, but his hand never made contact.   
  
Bilbo’s coat, which had seen better days and was barely serviceable as a garment any longer, finally gave it up and ripped under harsh hands, and Bilbo felt himself falling. His feet hit solid ground for an instant before he overbalanced and tipped backwards. He screamed, a high, uncontrolled sound full of pure terror, and then the breath was stolen from him completely as he plunged down the mountain. In the instant before he fell, he saw every trace of madness leave the eyes in front of him; it was replaced by pure panic as Thorin lunged for him, trying desperately to catch Bilbo as he went down. He missed, and fell to his knees, hands flying to cover his face, the hobbit’s horrible scream filling his ears as he fell to his death below.   
  
For his part Bilbo felt nothing; after that moment of complete, unadulterated horror he slammed into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several sentences in the dialogue between Bard and Thorin have been lifted directly from the book.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that the entire day I thought I had to catch up with myself was time my family wanted to have . Who knew? At any rate, there will be more to come shortly, either tonight or tomorrow. But I couldn't leave Bilbo in the black - that wouldn't be very decent at all. 
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for all comments and kudos. They're awesome Christmas presents!

Bilbo woke thrashing violently, a scream lodged in his throat. He fell off of the bed, tangled helplessly in his blankets, and shoved himself backward in a blind panic until his back hit the wall. He sat there, shaking, for some time.   
  
When he could finally bring himself to move, he gingerly untangled his legs, wincing as he found several tender spots that he had banged in his panicked waking. He placed the sheets on his bed and headed for his front room, his steps carefully measured. He did not look at the contract that lay on his table, did not inspect his pantry. He aimed for his front door, went outside and stood in the sun, breathing deeply.   
  
He did not go on the journey. Instead he stayed at home, tended to his garden, and tried very, very hard to get over his last loop, so that he might face Thorin Oakenshield once again without fear.   
  
He knew that Thorin hadn’t meant for him to fall to his death. He’d seen his horrified face as he’d fallen; felt the hand that grasped for him brush feather light against the front of his shirt. That didn’t make how his death had occurred any easier to deal with, and Bilbo woke enough nights with the image of those furious, murderous eyes seared into his brain to know that he would not find it easy to put aside what had happened. Just the thought of travelling with Thorin again made his breath come short and his knees quake. He hated it, hated feeling so afraid when he’d weathered so much else – surely Gollum was far more dangerous to him than his friend! And yet…that same friend  _had_  dangled him over the side of the mountain. Even if his death had been accidental, there would have been no accident at all if not for Thorin’s rage and gold lust.   
  
He pondered the horrible situation one night as he lay in bed. He knew that he couldn’t hide in his hobbit hole forever. Sooner or later the loop would reset and he would find himself back at the beginning, having to repeat the same things over and over again until he got it right. At this thought, Bilbo allowed himself a small scream of frustration. “What do I have to get right?” he demanded, not knowing who he was asking but needing to yell at  _someone_. “Why do  _I_  have to get anything right at all? Why must this be my responsibility?” He received no answer, and he fell asleep scowling.   
  
When he woke the next morning, he knew even before he opened his eyes that time had once again rewound, for he had most definitely not fallen asleep in his trousers the night before. He took his time about getting up. He still wasn’t sure if he was ready to face Thorin, but he knew he had to. The longer he waited the harder it would be, but that didn’t change the fact that even entertaining doing so took more courage than he was comfortable with. Still, he had not survived an uncountable number of confrontations with wargs and orcs and creepy Gollums in caves only to allow the thought of one of his  _friends_  to keep him paralyzed at home.   
  
Logic, however, held very little sway against emotion, and Bilbo found himself getting ready to join the Company at an extremely sedate pace. One might even call it a crawl. He didn’t try to force himself to hurry, knowing that he would be likely to fly into a panic if he attempted it. Even though he’d had months to get past his last disastrous Erebor related death, now that he was preparing to rejoin the Company he felt as though the end of that journey had only just occurred. It was all he could do to force his limbs to move even as slowly as they did.

Outside his front door he paused. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, concentrating on forcing his racing heart to calm down. He could do this. He would have Gandalf there, and he could change the way that this journey went. He would have a while to think about it, if he were clever enough to keep everyone alive until the end - not that he knew for sure when that might be. It appeared that there was something he had to do, something he had to make right, and he had a definite suspicion that it had to do with the end of the journey, and Thorin’s insanity. He just did not know what he was supposed to change that would cause the gold to have less of a sway. He wondered if it could be something as early as the first day with the Company, and also how long it would take him to find whatever it was that would keep time in its place. The only thing he knew for sure was that he would never again die the way he had the last time. He would not fall, be pushed, thrown, or otherwise forcibly removed from the mountain. No matter what he had to do, that was a fate he intended never to re-experience.   
  
As his heart rate finally slowed to something approaching normal, Bilbo opened his eyes and set off to find his friends. After the first few hesitant steps he found it quite easy to speed up just a bit, and soon enough he was running, bounding into the forest with a little of the same excitement that he had felt upon joining the quest the first time. He only hoped that he could hold on to it when he reached his destination.


	22. Chapter 22

Much to his relief, joining with the Company again was nowhere near as horrible as he’d believed it might be. He was happy to see his friends, happy to be able to get to know them again and be with them without the gold madness driving a wedge between them. It was good to share a pipe with Balin after dinner, and laugh at Fili and Kili’s mischief while trading recipes with Bombur. Even Gloin’s many stories of his wife and child were interesting again. He’d missed them during the three month break without even knowing, and being surrounded once again by his dear friends worked as a balm to his soul.  
  
The only exception was Thorin. Bilbo could not be near him at all without feeling a measure of fear, and thus avoided him at every opportunity. Every single disdainful look brought to mind the furious way he’d stared before coming at Bilbo, and every loud reprimand or order recalled the harsh, hateful words he’d shouted as he’d shaken him back and forth over the mountain’s edge. He didn’t want to be so afraid of Thorin, but he couldn’t seem to control it. He’d tried, oh how he’d tried, but his fear would not be denied.   
  
Not only was his fear embarrassing, it was also dangerous. When they faced the trolls, Bilbo did his best to buy time for Gandalf to come and save them as usual, but when he heard Thorin’s voice amidst the others cursing him for his supposed betrayal he froze, unable to do or say anything, and he would have wound up as a meal for the large creatures had not Gandalf realized what had happened and provided his own distraction by making noises in several spots of the woods and allowing himself to be seen once or twice for confusion, before he used his staff to split the rock that protected the trolls from the rays of the rising sun. Bilbo’s legs had given out on him, and he’d sunk to the ground where he lay until Gandalf untied him and drew him from is burlap sack. He’d ignored Thorin’s beckoning and simply  _looked_  at Bilbo for a long moment, then pulled him aside, his face clearly expressing his worry.  
  
“What is it?” he asked in a low voice, reaching out and taking both of Bilbo’s shaking hands in his. “Why did you freeze so?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head, his eyes downcast. He was ashamed of what had happened, ashamed that he had let irrational fear stop him from being useful. Gandalf squeezed his hands gently. “I will not press you, but please believe me when I say that whatever it is, I will listen, most gladly. I do not like to see you so troubled. It does my heart ill.”  
  
Bilbo swallowed hard and looked up. He would have spoken, but at that very moment he caught sight of Thorin stomping his way over, irritated at being so blatantly ignored. Suddenly the face in front of him seemed to twist not in mild annoyance but pure rage, and large, angry hands reached for his throat. Bilbo let out a noise like a cornered rabbit and scrambled backwards as fast as he could, completely unaware that Thorin had stopped advancing at his reaction, and that all the Company was staring with dropped jaws and wide eyes as their burglar fled from their king as if for his very life. He kept moving until his back hit a tree, and there he sat, cowering and shivering, too caught up in his memory to take notice of his surroundings.

Gandalf motioned the others away and stepped hesitantly toward the quivering hobbit, hand outstretched. “Bilbo”, he said softly, “Bilbo, it’s all right. No one is going to harm you, I promise.” It took a couple more minutes of speaking in the same soothing, quiet voice for Bilbo to come out of his own head. He blinked rapidly, then looked around, taking in the expressions of his companions and the careful way that Thorin was avoiding his eyes. Finally he took in the wizard in front of him, who still held out a hand and was smiling kindly, though his eyes were troubled. Bilbo took the hand and was pulled to his feet, but he kept his gaze on the ground. He wished that they would stop  _looking_  at him – he was mortified enough that he’d acted so irrationally, he didn’t need their stares to make things worse. Gandalf took note of this, and gave the others a speaking glance, telling them without words that whatever had caused such a reaction in their little friend, it would be best if they didn’t press it. They understood, and immediately focused on other things. Bilbo sent him a grateful smile then ducked his head again. He would do his best to keep his head down for the rest of the journey. Now that he understood that he’d tried too hard too soon, his focus narrowed to making sure that they survived until Rivendell. At Rivendell he might be able to pull himself together.  
  
He was partially correct. While Rivendell did have a calming effect on his nerves, Bilbo still had a hard time being around Thorin. For the first time since he’d started this endless cycle of time, he was not bid to join the conference in the Moon Room where the map was to be read, and he was grateful for it. He would have had to refuse, and then felt badly for making the others despair at Gandalf’s choice of burglar.  _Not that they don’t already_ , he thought bitterly as he set his bedroll away from the merrymaking of the others and lay down.  _They probably wonder how they were talked into such a worthless fourteenth member at all. Oh, what a silly thing you are turning out to be, Bilbo Baggins. Silly and frightened. It’s pathetic, is what it is, and no small wonder no one wants to be around you_. But all the self-berating thoughts in the world could not change the instinctive reaction Bilbo had to being too near Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo curled into a miserable little ball and buried his head in his pillow, wishing that he’d stayed home on this journey as well. He completely missed the worried looks sent his way, and would have been surprised to know that everyone, even the king himself, was far too concerned about him to bemoan their lack of capable burglar. None of them had asked either Bilbo or Gandalf what was wrong, but each wondered if perhaps it might be better for the gentle little hobbit if he were to be replaced by someone less visibly terrified. For his part, Thorin often wondered what he’d done to scare him so, and did his best not to be so gruff, but as even his gentlest tones made Bilbo tense, had stopped trying altogether. The reclamation of Erebor was still first and foremost in his mind and heart, but he was not a monster, and he was loath to drag Bilbo into a quest that seemed to be destroying him so.  
  
He brought his worries up to Gandalf, who listened intently, then offered that if Bilbo was to leave, it might be best to let him make the decision himself. “He’s struggling with something, and I believe that to send him away now would only do him harm. Let it be, at least until I have joined with you in the mountains again. If I return and find that he is the same, I will escort him back to Rivendell myself and insist that he stay. Of this you have my word.”

Thorin had agreed, but hadn’t liked it, and days later he regretted allowing the wizard to persuade him at all. The hobbit did not get better. With Gandalf gone he became even more jittery and unstable, and often strayed so far from the rest of them that one or the other of the Company had to fall back and retrieve him. The last straw was when he fell off of the cliff during the battle of the stone giants. He shrieked insanely and struggled against Thorin the entire time that he tried to save him, and once his feet were again on solid ground he just stood there, eyes glazed over, until Bofur gently prodded him forward. Thorin bit back his harsh words and resolved to tell Master Baggins that his services would no longer be required. They would find Gandalf, and he would be sent back where he belonged. Thorin would not have his blood on his conscience, not this way.   
  
Bilbo, knowing nothing of Thorin’s new resolve, was making resolutions of his own. That night as the rest slept, he stood and tried to stealthily creep out of the cave. He couldn’t stay. He was only putting everyone in danger this way, forcing them to take care of him when they’d been assured that he could handle himself. He would go back, and recover properly before he tried again, even if it took years. The thought that it might indeed take that long made him want to wail in frustration, but he knew that he couldn’t go on like he had been.  
  
He had nearly made it out of the cave when a very quiet, very controlled voice asked, “Do you think it’s wise to leave on your own?”  
  
Bilbo faltered, and reluctantly turned, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. He could not look, but he found that he  _could_  speak.  
  
“I’m holding you back. There’s something wrong with me. I thought I had fixed it, but I didn’t, and I can’t do this when I’m broken. I can’t, I can’t. I want to, but I –“  
  
“Peace, Master Baggins. I understand. I was just suggesting that it might be a better idea to wait until Gandalf returns, so that he might escort you as far as the Elves we just left.”  
  
Bilbo shook his head, the words pouring out of him. “No, no, I can’t wait that long. There will be goblins and wargs and the Gollum thing and then it will be too late, far too late, and then there will be a dragon and the cliff and you, you  _grabbed_  me, you  _shook_  me, you made me  _fall_ , and I can’t, I can’t…”  
  
He stopped, breath sobbing in his throat as his brain caught up with his mouth and what he had said finally registered. His head snapped up and he met Thorin’s eyes properly for the first time since the journey had begun. The dwarf king’s face was creased with bewildered surprise.  
  
“I-what?”   
  
Bilbo shook his head, backing away. Oh, he’d messed this up properly, hadn’t he? What could have possessed him to ramble on so? To give so much away? Before he could do or say anything more, the sword at his hip began to glow, they were all falling, and there were more important things to worry about than the words that had spilled from his mouth without permission.

Facing Gollum again turned out to be a bit of blessing, as it helped him put a few things in perspective. There was no getting out of the journey now. The choice had been effectively taken out of his hands. He was stuck on the journey, whether he liked it or not. He could keep flinching every time Thorin came near, or he could grab his courage in both hands and force himself to handle his fear properly. If he didn’t he was going to have to watch Azog kill him, and as tense as Thorin made him he still didn’t even want to contemplate seeing him die.   
  
His new resolve lasted until he had caught up with the others. They had just discovered he was not with them, and Nori mentioned that he’d seen him duck out of the way. He remembered Thorin’s harsh words and hunched in on himself, waiting for the derision.   
  
“Let us all hope that he made it safely out, then.”  
  
Bilbo felt his mouth drop open in surprise. He noticed with some amusement that Kili and Dwalin’s did, as well. Gandalf raised a brow. “Then you are not displeased by such an act of cowardice from our burglar?”  
  
Bilbo gave Gandalf a dirty look as Thorin replied, “I am not. Nor do I think it cowardly. He was on the verge of leaving before we were tumbled into the caves, both for himself and the good of our Company. If he felt that he would be a danger to us then it is better that he go back. Though I fear that he may have met his end in those caves, I hope and pray that he managed to find a way out, and is on his way back to Rivendell.” He gazed back up the way that they’d come, his expression solemn. Watching him, Bilbo felt suddenly that his courage would not be hard to find, after all. He slipped the ring from his finger and stepped out from behind his tree.   
  
“About that...” he started, then shrugged as words failed him. How could he explain to them that he was afraid, terrified even, but that he couldn’t give up? That he’d come to love all of them so much that to leave them to reclaim Erebor without him had become unthinkable, regardless of his fear or the repetition of the quest?   
  
He did not know, and he found himself looking helplessly at Gandalf, willing him to understand. It seemed he did; his face relaxed and he smiled. “It would seem our burglar has found his courage inside the goblin caves.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, grateful. “Yes. That. And I would very much like to continue on this journey. That is, if you’ll have me.” He met Thorin’s assessing stare and although he was still nervous, he no longer felt the debilitating fear of the past weeks. Thorin’s forgiving speech had done away with that.  _The Thorin who made that speech was_ my _king_ , he thought,  _and now it’s my job to make sure he remembers that when we reach Erebor._  
  
His king gazed at him a moment longer before nodding, satisfied. He started to speak, but was interrupted by the cries of the approaching wargs. He muttered something under his breath instead, and then they were all running for their lives.

The fight in the forest, at least, was a part of the journey that Bilbo could do without thinking about. He hadn’t thought the first time and his body still acted almost without permission, running at the orc about to cut off Thorin’s head before he was even aware of making the decision to move. He embraced the mindlessness of it. Though he hated the idea of taking a life, any life, it went without saying that the lives of his friends would always trump his aversion to killing. It wasn’t even that difficult if he let his instincts take over – his body knew what needed to be done. And soon enough he was joined by the others and could stop engaging the enemy in favor of standing guard over Thorin’s prone body, protecting him when he could not protect himself. Still, it would be a lie to pretend that it wasn’t a relief when the eagles came and flew them to safety, every time.   
  
Thorin did not try to hug him when he woke; rather, he checked to make sure that he was okay, and then gave a small nod and smile, perhaps sensing that Bilbo would not appreciate an embrace. Bilbo was pleased. He did not think he could have handled anything more. Reminding himself that the Thorin he was dealing with now was free of the madness that had seized him in Erebor was all well and good, but he thought it might take a long while before he was able to feel anything less than wary when he was within grabbing distance.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I have lifted some dialogue directly from the text - Beorn's words to Bilbo about getting fat on bread and honey are not my own.

Later, after Beorn had been amused by their tale and offered them a place of brief respite, Bilbo noticed Thorin watching him. It wasn’t the uncomfortable sort of watching – he wasn’t analyzing him to see if he was suddenly going to have another breakdown, and he didn’t appear to be looking for faults. It wasn’t even constant. It was just that sometimes Bilbo would look up to find Thorin’s eyes on him, holding a question he did not want to answer.   
  
He’d known his outburst hadn’t been forgotten, but he’d foolishly hoped that Thorin would be too distracted to think on it, or on what it meant that he’d seemed to know things that he had no way of knowing. His hopes had been dashed. Thorin had very nearly worked himself up to asking, Bilbo could tell, and so he did everything in his power to avoid having to answer. He stayed always in someone else’s company, most often Gandalf’s, and he took great pains to avoid looking towards the king. He knew that if he could just keep himself from getting caught until they were in Mirkwood there would be no time to answer any questions.  
  
He underestimated how stubborn Thorin could be, however, early one morning during their stay, he cornered Bilbo as he was heading outside after breakfast. One of the rest of the company was to be seen. Bilbo sighed wearily and headed back inside, where he then sat. “Ask your questions, though I will tell you now I cannot promise answers.”

“Before we were taken by the goblins, you said some things. Things that I assumed were rantings and ravings at first, but then later turned out to be true. How did you know these things would come to pass?”  
  
“I cannot say. Perhaps I dreamed it, once. At any rate I only half remember what I told you. I was in a state. So sorry. Nice to chat, but I really have to get started on my packing…”  
  
Thorin’s mouth quirked and he held up a hand, preventing Bilbo from rising. “I do have one more question, and for this one I must insist on having an answer. You claimed, in those caves, that I had…what was it? Grabbed you, shaken you, made you fall? Was that a dream as well, Master Baggins?” he sat heavily in a seat near Bilbo, and shook his head. “I don’t believe it was, and yet I also can’t remember ever doing such a thing. I might have thought you were unfit for the rigors of our journey, but I would never wish harm upon you, much less be the cause of it.” He laughed, but it wasn’t amused. “You were not lying,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “I know you were not. Every time I come near you, you begin to shake. That is not a response that comes from a dream, even a vivid one, and for all that you are a burglar you are an honest one. I just…I have to know. Why did you say that, when your guard was down?”

Bilbo bit his lip. Thorin did look distraught. Oh, curse his mouth! Why did it never stay shut when it was supposed to?  
  
And yet…maybe telling Thorin would not be such a bad idea. It might stop him from acting like a fool over the Arkenstone, at the very least; might make him willing to talk sensibly with Bard instead of allowing the madness to take him completely. He took a deep breath.  
  
“You’re right. You should know. The thing is, for a very long time, now, I…well, I’ve been through this before.“  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
Bilbo sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Exactly as I said. I’ve done this. All of this. The caves, the wargs, Beorn’s house. After.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve done it over and over again and it’s driven me a bit mad, I think.”  
  
Thorin’s expression said plainly that he fully agreed with Bilbo’s assessment of his sanity, if nothing else. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been here? With us? Was this another of your dreams?”  
  
Bilbo laughed. “I only wish it were. I mean it literally. I could tell you exactly what Beorn will say when he returns, because I’ve heard it. And it’s not very fun, being picked up and poked and told that you’re getting fat. In fact it’s extremely impolite.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to…”  
  
“Not you. Not important. You have your answers now. May I leave?”  
  
Thorin nodded absently and Bilbo left the room, glad to get out from under that skeptical gaze. He knew Thorin must think him completely mad. He hadn’t wanted to talk about what he’d said for that very reason, and now he might have to go through this entire journey with companions who believed that he was cracked. It was not a pleasant thought. He wondered how long it would take Thorin to tell the others about Mad Burglar Baggins and his batty talk of knowing the future.   
  
If Thorin said anything that day, then he also warned whomever he told to act natural, for no one so much as gave him an odd look. Bilbo had to come to the conclusion that no one knew, and he was thankful that Thorin seemed to want to keep his tale to himself, at least for the time being. He assumed that the king believed his ramblings to be harmless, and as Bilbo was no longer skittish and dazed enough to cause the Company any real danger by his inattention, he supposed that Thorin thought he may as well keep his delusion to himself. If his eyes were on Bilbo nearly constantly, well, that was a small price to pay to have him keep his secret from the rest.  
  
Beorn returned the next morning, happy from his successful goblin hunt and full of good cheer. He conversed energetically with Gandalf for a moment and then spotted Bilbo, who had been trying to edge out of the room without being seen. No such luck, as soon he was grabbed and hoisted to the big skin changer’s eye level, Beorn poking him in the stomach as he crowed loudly, “Little bunny is getting fat gain on bread and honey! Come and have some more!” Still carrying Bilbo, Beorn headed for breakfast, the others trailing behind him, trying not laugh out loud at Bilbo’s disgruntled expression. Only Thorin did not follow; he stood stock still and stared after them, his expression suddenly pensive.  
  
He cornered Bilbo later. “You knew that would happen.”  
  
“Yes. I  _told_  you as much, didn’t I? Every time. Every time, he’s done that, no matter where I hide. It’s very uncomfortable, not to mention humiliating, being carried about like that.”  
  
Thorin placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. He flinched slightly, but allowed the touch. “Master Baggins. Bilbo, if I may. You cannot understand what this means. If you know what is to happen, then you are more valuable than a mere burglar. You know the way to retake Erebor, the way to reclaim our home, and I would have it, if you would be so kind.”

Bilbo pulled away from Thorin and paced, troubled. “You don’t understand. You think it’s as simple as knowing what the future has in store, but it isn’t. Things don’t always go exactly the same – although they do tend to be similar – and I’ve been  _trying_  to figure out how to stop it, but obviously I haven’t succeeded.”  
  
“Yes, but you’ve been doing it alone all this time. Perhaps if we put our two heads together, we might be able to find a solution. Now, tell me everything.”  
  
Bilbo most emphatically did  _not_  tell Thorin all, but he told him a good portion. He saw no harm, for example, in telling him how they’d strayed from the path and been captured by the Mirkwood Elves. Nor did he see any reason why he should not inform him of his descent into madness due to the gold and the Arkenstone. Perhaps if he was aware of the threat, he might be better able to guard against it. Thorin thanked him profusely for this information, his eyes glittering with renewed determination, and he was not surprised to find that his tale had sped their journey up by a full day.  
  
Before they took their leave, as Beorn pressed upon them most earnestly how important it was to stick to the path, Gandalf pulled Bilbo aside. “You spent quite a bit of time with Thorin this morning”, he remarked in a casual tone that was obviously false. Bilbo nodded.  
  
“Yes, well…I’ve told him about the journeys.”  
  
An eyebrow arched. “And how did he take it?”  
  
“Oh, horribly, at first. Thought I was completely mad, but then what else could he have thought? I’m pretty sure he believes me now, though.”  
  
“No doubt.” Gandalf glanced at Thorin, who was in the middle of thanking Beorn at great length for his hospitality, and his gaze was troubled. “I am not sure that it was the wisest choice to make.”  
  
“It could hardly make things worse. I told  _you_ , didn’t I, without any ill effects? Perhaps this will change things for the better.”  
  
“Perhaps”, Gandalf agreed, but Bilbo could see that he did not really believe what he said.  
  
He didn’t blame him. If he were perfectly honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn’t really believe it either. There had been something in Thorin’s eyes as they’d talked about Erebor, something that looked a lot like the gleam of madness they’d held before. But the damage, whatever it was, had been done, and there was nothing for it but to meet the future as it came.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I am fully caught up to where I am on livejournal. I am going to go ahead and apologize now, because I write very slowly and the regular updates might become a thing of the past. 
> 
> Hey, where is everyone going? *sigh*

Everything had gone wrong.

At first, telling Thorin what he knew had seemed like it would be more of a blessing than anything else, as he took Bilbo’s warnings about Mirkwood to heart and made sure that everyone stuck to the path, even when their bellies were aching and their limbs were slow from hunger. Due to this diligence, they passed through the wood nearly without incident, and the group of spiders that they ran into towards the end were no real match for thirteen irritated dwarves who knew that they were nearly at the end of a very unpleasant leg of their journey. Bilbo watched in fascination as they made short work of their enemy, content to be well out of the action for once.

Bombur gazed down at one of the dead spiders thoughtfully. “Do you think we could eat them?” he asked. Immediately, all eyes turned to the spiders, speculative. Bilbo gaped. Of all the – they weren’t _seriously_ contemplating making those things a meal, were they? They didn’t even look appetizing to him, and he was just as hungry as the rest.

“I don’t think-“

“Best not”. Dwalin rumbled. “Don’t know that it won’t hurt us, and I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“We’re nearly out, anyway,” Balin added, “and then food should not be so scarce.”

He was right. They arrived in Laketown in record time, as thanks to Thorin’s use of Bilbo’s knowledge they had never strayed from the path or been taken by the elves, and all looked forward to the extra reprieve that time afforded them. The Men were surprised and happy to see them, songs were sung and merriment was made, and Bilbo fell asleep that night in an actual room, with a bed and a washing basin, feeling happy and warm and content. The best part was that he did not even have a cold, as he had not had to suffer through riding down a river atop a barrel in order to make it to Laketown this journey. He slid into his warm bed with a happy sigh, thinking to himself that perhaps he had finally made the right choice. Perhaps this would be the journey that everything went right, and he would be able to see it through to the end. He fell asleep dreaming of dark halls lit brightly once again, the sounds dancing and music and laughter ringing through them.

He woke hours later drenched in a cold sweat, his breath coming out in pants that sounded like sobs as the last vestiges of Thorin’s furious face and harsh, callous hands pushing him to and fro faded from his mind. He huddled into himself, shivering. The nightmare had been mostly absent since the first confrontation with Azog, and has disappeared completely after the time at Beorn’s. If he hadn’t had it then when he’d spent so much time in Thorin’s company, why now? Why when it looked like everything was working out did he have to have that awful dream again?

The best that he could come up with was that they were on the last real stretch before Erebor, and Bilbo’s mind associated Erebor with a Thorin driven mad by gold. It didn’t matter that Bilbo had already changed things by telling Thorin of what was to come. His bad memories were far too strong to be assuaged by the hope that things might work differently, and as the days went by Bilbo began to believe that less had been changed by his telling Thorin than he’d at first believed.

Even though they’d made good time travelling through Mirkwood, all could see that the longer they tarried in Laketown, the more restless Thorin became. He took to pacing around the inn they were staying at and snapping irritably at anyone who so much as looked at him. Bilbo watched this behavior with worried eyes, suspecting what was causing it. He also didn’t like that Thorin began taking him aside more and more often to question him, and as time went on the questions pointed less towards the retaking of Erebor and more towards the location of the Arkenstone. Fearful that possessing the stone would only make Thorin more likely to succumb to gold-madness, Bilbo evaded these questions as best he could, but he feared not nearly well enough. There was a certain light in Thorin’s eyes that made Bilbo think he’d gleaned enough from him to find the gem, should he be allowed. Bilbo resolved that he wouldn’t.

His nightmares had been growing steadily worse as Thorin’s mood had darkened, until he was barely sleeping at all for the horrible nightly visions. His own temper began to fray and he wished heartily that they would just get on with the journey and face what they had to face, because all this waiting was only setting him on edge. He counted on Thorin’s impatience to win the day, and it did. The Company set off for Erebor after only a week in Laketown, despite the fact that they had more time to spare and would only arrive at the mountain to wait once again. The others grumbled a bit, but Bilbo was grateful to be off. He hoped that their journey to Erebor might exhaust him enough that he could sleep without dreaming.

He half got his wish. The journey was exhausting, as Thorin was so eager to get to entrance to Erebor that he pushed them harder than ever, and they scarcely stopped to rest or eat. Bilbo was indeed so exhausted at night that he fell asleep almost instantly, yet the nightmares continued, and worse than before, because his body was so tired that he could rarely wake himself. More than once he had to be shaken awake by one of the Company, who would look at him with concern as he turned away, shuddering. His friends began to try to help him in whatever small way they could: Fili and Kili took to sleeping with him squashed between them, as if their bulk could keep away the horrible things Bilbo saw in his dreams. Dwalin, Bofur, and Bifur took turns carrying his pack, no matter how much he protested that he could fully handle the weight. Balin gave him his best pipe weed, Ori a scroll of soothing stories to read before bedtime. Bombur allowed Bilbo the biggest share of meals, Dori fussed and Nori walked with him often, joking and jostling and doing his best to keep Bilbo’s spirits from flagging. Oin offered up his best remedies for dreamless sleep, and Gloin handed over a bottle of brandy that he had been saving for the reclamation of Erebor. In fact, the only one of the Company who didn’t take an interest in Bilbo’s problem was Thorin. Bilbo might have felt slighted, but he was fully aware that Thorin no longer cared about anything that wasn’t locked behind the great walls of his former home.

It saddened Bilbo greatly, to know that his attempt to make Thorin understand how the Arkenstone had driven him mad seemed to have only made him reach that point even faster than before. He had a horrible feeling that this journey could only end in bloodshed, and it was once again all his fault. What else could he have done, though, he asked himself one night, watching Thorin as he peered into the darkness, straining to keep an eye on his home despite the lack of light. Taking the Arkenstone had done no good either time he’d tried it, and now it looked as though flat out telling Thorin what he’d done for love of it worked just about as well towards curing him of the affliction as taking the stone had. He had not heard of his ultimate downfall in Bilbo’s tale - already the lure of the Arkenstone had him and all he gleaned from what had been said was that Bilbo knew its location. Every word of caution that Bilbo had uttered had thus fallen on deaf ears. He did not know what he could have done to make Thorin really listen to him, but he had the horrible feeling that he was going to get another chance to make a different decision. The thought made his eyes fill with tears borne of exhaustion and a sort of helpless fury, and though he had not yet eaten he went to lie on his bedroll, turning his back to the others and curling into a miserable little ball, wishing with all of his might that he had never stepped foot out of his cozy little hobbit hole in the first place.

He did not dream that night, but woke feeling just as tired as when he laid down. His eyes felt hot and swollen and his limbs ached. He did not want to move – not that he could, given that Fili and Kili were once again doing their best to smother him in their sleep – and so he lay where he was, tired and heartsick.

Next to him, Kili stirred slightly. “Wish that you would tell us what is wrong,” he said, tightening his arms about Bilbo. “We don’t like to see you so unlike yourself. We would be glad to listen if you would just _talk to us_.” He was upset; Bilbo could tell that from the sound of his voice alone, even if he couldn’t bring himself to look into his face. A hand reached over from Bilbo’s other side and grasped Kili’s shoulder, forcing Bilbo into an even closer embrace.

“I know we’re gruff, and loud, and hard, and that you’re small and proper and soft, but we care about you, Bilbo. None of us like to see you like this. We want to help. Please, let us.”

Tears once again came to Bilbo’s eyes, and he buried his head in Kili’s shoulder. The dwarf hugged him tightly, and a hand stroked his hair as he shook.

When he felt that he had composed himself, Bilbo raised his head to finally meet Kili’s worried gaze. He smiled slightly. “I cannot tell you all, or truthfully even part, but you should know that you are a comfort to me. For all our differences, you are my dearest friends, and I would do anything for you as well.” His hand groped over his shoulder for a second, and Fili stopped stroking his hair to clasp it in his own. Nothing more was spoken. They simply lay like that, taking comfort in each other, until the rest of the Company woke and they had to get up and meet the day’s journey.

Bilbo felt inexplicably better for those few moments; more rested and able to get through the day. They were nearly to the mountain and he knew that things were going to get worse for them all, but for the first time since they’d left Beorn’s house he felt emotionally and physically equipped to deal with it. From that point on he made no protests when Fili and Kili pulled him between them to rest, finally able to allow himself the comfort of their closeness and knowing that they in turn were comforted because he let them be close.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is short, and I'm really, really sorry about that, but I am up to my ears in work right now and have had absolutely no time to write. I'm still doing my best to peck out what I can though - the end is actually in sight! Hope you enjoy the little I have been able to get out. :)

Bilbo tried very hard to calm himself down. He was to be facing a dragon very shortly, and it would not do for him to confront Smaug in a temper. Oh, but it was hard when all he wanted to do was go back to where he’d left the others and throttle Thorin Oakenshield until he started acting like himself again. That the madness had taken him earlier than before he’d already known, but he hadn’t been aware of just how bad it had gotten until the door had finally been opened and Bilbo had been about to head in to face a very live dragon. The others had been worried for him. He’d improved a bit with Fili and Kili’s help, but he still looked tired and far too worn for the danger he was about to face. There’d been murmurs that perhaps he shouldn’t go until he was better rested, but Thorin had quickly squashed that idea. That wasn’t what Bilbo had a problem with. He had come with the Company to do a job, after all, and he would see it done. He knew the others were trying to help by suggesting that he wait a bit, and he appreciated their intent, but he wanted the thing done and over with. He also resented being looked at as helpless, though he would never say it. He wasn’t helpless, and he would prove it.

So no, Thorin’s insistence that he do the job he had been hired for was not what caused his ire. Nor was it caused by his response when Kili volunteered to accompany him. Thorin flatly refused, as he rightly should, and said that Balin could go with him as far as the tunnel led, but no further. That was fine, and Bilbo was ready to go, but Kili shook his head stubbornly. “Thorin, there might very well be a live dragon in there. It doesn’t seem right, sending him in there with no protection at all.”

Bilbo had huffed, irritated. “I’ll be fine, Kili. Thorin is right. This is why you hired me. So stop trying to keep me from it”  


Kili bit his lip, looking torn. Bilbo sighed. He knew that the need to protect him stemmed from concern and friendship, and he loved all of them for it, but it was time to get on with things. “Kili. I will go, and I will come back. You have my word.” Without further ado, he nodded to Balin and the two of them stepped through the door. 

“Master Baggins.” The voice stopped Bilbo in his tracks, and he turned, relieved and happy to know that some of Thorin was still there, if he were taking the time to warn him…only to have that belief disappear and fury take its place by what next fell from the king’s mouth. “Try and find the Arkenstone, and bring it back. If you can do nothing else, accomplish that.”He didn’t reply; he couldn’t. He was too angry. It was all he could do to nod shortly and walk away, when what he wanted to do was scream at Thorin that the Arkenstone wasn’t what should be consuming his thoughts at the moment. Instead he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other as he seethed inwardly.

Balen left him when the tunnel ended, nearly running. Bilbo smiled. It had been brave of him to come as far as he had with him, and braver still of Kili to offer to face the dragon beside him. He would hold onto that – those proofs of solid friendship - as he faced the most terrifying enemy yet.

And terrifying he was, even asleep. Invisible and still shaking, Bilbo maneuvered himself around the sleeping giant as best he could, heading straight for where he knew the Arkenstone lay. He walked as gently as possible, knowing that it hardly mattered. Smaug was far too aware of his treasure not to notice someone new moving around in it. He would wake, and they would banter. Bilbo would try his best not to get incinerated, as he doubted that it would be the most pleasant way to die and was in no hurry to test his theory. Later, if he managed to evade dragon fire, he would have to confront Thorin – something he was about as keen to do as have tea with Smaug.

He spotted the Arkenstone in short order, and picked it up, turning it this way and that and simply gazing at it for a moment. All this trouble, over a stone. Oh, it was a pretty thing, but it was still a rock. A rock that had brought him nothing but trouble every time he’d come near it. Suddenly not wanting to touch it, he placed the Arkenstone in his pocket, then froze as a deceptively pleasant voice rumbled behind him, “And who dares enter the home of Smaug and steal his treasure?”

Bilbo turned, heart in his throat. The dragon had woken, and risen from its bed of gold. It looked around, yellow eyes narrowed, then sniffed.

“Now, now, don’t be shy”, it purred, smiling and showing off rows of sharp teeth. “You had the nerve to venture in here and touch my things, after all. Surely one who does that needn’t fear speaking? I know you’re in here, thief. I can smell you. Come on out and perhaps I will let you live.”

Bilbo said nothing, focusing instead on moving as far away from the menacing beast in front of him as he could. His knees were weak and trembling, though, and it made him clumsy. Coins skittered. Smaug’s head jerked in his direction, and Bilbo ran. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know it's been forever, and I am not going to make any excuses. I am very sorry, though! I do still plan on finishing this baby, come hell or high water. Hopefully the next update won't take as long - we're coming up on the end, I think. 
> 
> Fair warning, I play very fast and loose with both book and movie canon in this chapter. If that is going to bother you, this is the time to backbutton. All others, please proceed.
> 
> Last (but not least, not by a long shot) thank you so so much to all those who commented and kudosed. You guys are the reason I finally wrangled my brain into giving me something to work with. :D

He didn’t get far. He’d known that he wouldn’t, but it turned out that when a terrified hobbit was confronted by a very large and menacing dragon, the instinct to run and hide would take over, not quite with said hobbit’s permission. He was shaking so badly that it was more of a slide than a run, and it was something of a relief when he found himself stuck between an archway the dragon, who had located him through a keen sense of smell and hearing, as Bilbo was still invisible.

The great head swooped low, hovering around the archway Bilbo cowered against. He wanted to close his eyes, to pretend as he had when he was just a wee hobbit that if his eyes were closed, bad things couldn’t reach him, but he couldn’t. He was far too petrified to do more than shake as one great golden eye looked to and fro, seeking out the figure to which this new scent belonged.

“Little thief, little thief, why do you hide? Come out, let us be friends. You needn’t come to harm if you only put back what it is you have taken, and tell me who and what you are, for I have never smelled one such as you.”

Bilbo could well believe it. He didn’t imaging many hobbits had made it to Erebor in more than one lifetime, being the settled, non-wandering sort of creature. He was the only hobbit he knew of foolish enough to walk into a dragon’s lair. Still, he was not so foolish as to speak so close to the great beast. He imagined _that_ sort of foolishness would result in being eaten up immediately, no matter what the dragon said.

With this in mind, he slid as best he could around the archway, to the other side. He made a bit of noise, of course, coins not being the most stable of surfaces, and the dragon let out a smoky huff.

“Sill you would run, when I offer you lenience? I might have known that a rude little thief would do so. Answer me, little thief, for I am running out of patience.”

There was no hope for it – Bilbo would have to reply. Keeping himself in the relative safety of the opposite side of the archway, he replied, “If I have not spoken, O Smaug the Great, it is because I have been struck dumb by your magnificence. Truly, the tales do not do you justice.”

“Is that so?” the dragon rumbled, and though he knew that Smaug probably didn’t believe a word of what he said Bilbo could tell it pleased him, nonetheless. He decided to keep it up.

“Oh, yes. Such tales of your majesty have been spread throughout the land that even one so humble as I has been inspired to travel for many miles and months to bask in your glory.”

The dragon chuckled. “Yes. One so humble as you. Tell me, little humble one, what is your name? Just how far have you traveled to reach my magnificence.”

Bilbo gulped. He did not want to tell Smaug his name, not for the world. He searched his memory frantically, wishing that he remembered more of this part of the journey. Alas, he did not. He would have to do his best to talk around the things he did not want to reveal.”

“I have been called many things. Barrel rider, Spider slayer, friend of bears and guest of eagles. I am elf-friend, Ringwinner, clue-guesser and time-repeater, and I have traveled over many a hill, through mountain and wood, through time and terror and toil, to meet you at last, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamaties.”

“Clever. Very clever. However, you mustn’t let your imagination get the better of you.” The dragon slid around the arch as he spoke, and Bilbo did as well, so that they were once again on opposite sides. He had a feeling that this would not work for very long, but at the moment it was his only real option. He would have to look for a chance to break away.

“Now, let us discuss why it is you smell not only of a new creature – and what a delight it is to have a new scent in my nostrils! – but also of Men. Lake-men to be precise. Not to mention, of course, of dwarf.”

“D-dwarf?”

“Oh, yes. I could smell their stench from a mile away, so thick does it lie upon you. Allow me to give you some advice, Barrel-rider, as you have been so kind as to entertain me these past few moments: carrying on with dwarves could very well be the end of you.”

“Carrying on?” Bilbo swallowed hard. “I’ve carried on with no dwarves, I can promise you that. Oh, I had their company part of the way here, that is true, but we parted ways before Laketown. If I still smell of them – which I do _not_ , thank you very much, I do bathe – it is only because we were thrown together by circumstance.”

“Lies. You have traveled with them, yes, but there was no separation, not until they sent you in here to die for them. What did they promise you, little thief, little Barrel-ride and all the rest? Was it gold? A share of this vast treasure, yours for the taking? Of course they promised easily. They knew you would never face Smaug and live. Another piece of advice before you die, for I have grown weary of our conversation: above all else, dwarves love gold. Whatever friendship they pretend, the words will fade when their eyes light upon a treasure. It is a pity that you have learned this too late, but perhaps the next one will be wiser.” And with that, Smaug forwent the pretense of not knowing exactly where Bilbo was, and so quickly that Bilbo almost didn’t see it that large face was heading towards where he stood, petrified, jaws extended.

Bilbo closed his eyes tight against his own death, hoping that this would not be the last time he would have to repeat the journey. Yet the bite he expected never came. Instead a great gush of air hit him, nearly knocking him to the ground, as Smaug straightened, glaring at a spot far over Bilbo’s head, smoke jetting from his nostrils.

“What dwarf,” the great dragon roared, “dares to enter my fortress? What dwarf would dare to enter my home?”

“It is I, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and this is not your home,” came the response, and Bilbo felt a sudden great heat start up in the dragon next to him. This had been what he had been waiting for, and without a second thought, he darted around the dragon’s body and fled for his life.

He did not stop until he was sure he was far enough away from Smaug that the dragon could not longer smell him out. Once he could see the opening to the small tunnel he’d used to enter the dragon’s lair, he gave a great sigh of relief and pulled off his ring. He half wanted to keep it on – it seemed the safest thing to do – but he also didn’t want the others knowing about the ring. He felt possessive of the little trinket, more now than ever when it had saved his life so many times. “And anyway, it is mine. I won it fair and square, and therefore it’s my decision what to do with it, and who to tell.” Proud of his reasoning, he gave a little nod and pocketed the small circlet…and then ran directly into Thorin.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Bilbo demanded without thinking, rather rudely all things considered. Thorin made no answer, simply looked at him. Bilbo shrugged.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re both here, that’s the important thing. Now we should really get out of here before Smaug comes a’looking.” With that, Bilbo made to move around Thorin, but found himself stopped by a large hand upon his chest.

“Did you find it? The Arkenstone?”

Bilbo felt his mouth drop open in disbelief. “Do you really want to do this now? There is a very large, very angry dragon after us, Thorin!”

“Do. You. Have. It?”

“Yes, yes, I have it, now can we _go_?” He tried again to move past Thorin but found his way blocked by a sword. He took a step back and cocked his head curiously, bewildered. Thorin followed and pointed the sword directly at him, eyes narrowed. Bilbo searched those eyes, but found nothing of his former friend. The sickness had claimed Thorin thoroughly. He hung his head.

“So it’s come to this, then,” he said sadly to himself, tears pricking his eyes. Impatient, Thorin poked him with the sword, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough that it might form a bruise, and Bilbo found he had had enough. Furiously, he dug in his pocket, forgetting that they had a dragon hot on their heels, forgetting everything but his own exhaustion and anger and frustration.

“Here,” he cried, pulling the stone from his pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste to get it out, and brandishing it in front of him. “Here is your precious Arkenstone, Thorin. Take it, for all the good it will do you,” and without pausing to think, he tossed the stone away from him.

Thorin didn’t hesitate. He turned as the stone flew through the air, chasing it with his eyes before his body had even started to move. So intent was he on the capture of his beloved Arkenstone that he did not see the dragon appear next to him. Bilbo, however, did, and he screamed a warning, reaching out helplessly as flames erupted from the dragon’s mouth and sped towards them faster than thought. Bilbo shrieked as terror like he’d never known before filled him, shutting his eyes tightly and throwing up his arms in a futile attempt to protect himself from what was coming, bracing for the pain-everything was scorching, as though he were burning from the inside out-

-and then he was back in his sunny bedroom, hale and hearty and unburnt once more.

Bilbo sat up; his sheets pooled around his hips as he buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking twice before they were still. “Please”, he said aloud, though he didn’t know who he was talking to, “I can’t go through much more of this.” He kept his head in his hands and focused on breathing. He would get up and start anew, he promised himself. He just needed a minute. Just one minute, to prepare himself once more for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, do let me know what you think. I appreciate all feedback.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Thank you so so much to everyone who commented and kudosed so far. You guys always make my day.

“I am worried about our Bilbo.”

The words were said without preamble, and Thorin glanced up sharply, his snappish retort dying on his lips when he saw the deep-set frown on Gandalf’s face. He was acquainted enough with his temper to know that when he wore that look, it was best to keep his more acidic thoughts to himself.

Still, he couldn’t quite resist the urge to let out his own frustrations with the small creature who had decided to join them after all – and made their lives a misery because of it.

“He isn’t _our_ anything, wizard. He’s yours. Or don’t you recall our discussion of the matter?”

Gandalf sent him a dark look, gray brows drawing down even more sharply as he deepened his scowl. Thorin raised his chin, defiant. He would not accept responsibility for the burglar, not even if Gandalf threw him a hundred such looks. Bad enough that he was responsible for the rest of his company. He would not add another burden, not when he had been against his coming almost from the first. Still, angering Gandalf could only delay them farther, if the wizard took it into his head to be difficult. He sighed.

“And what worries you so about Master Baggins?”

The thunderclouds in Gandalf’s face cleared slightly, and Thorin gave an inward sigh of relief. He wasn’t afraid of arguing with him, but he knew that he must pick his battles carefully, and this was not one he chose to fight. He would let Gandalf say what he wished, and then he would put it out of his mind. After all, what was the hobbit to him? He had other things to worry about.

“He is not himself. Surely even you can see that he is not the same Bilbo he was when you first met him, but this change I fear is not for the better.” Gandalf gazed out into the distance for a moment, pensive.

For his part, Thorin didn’t really see the problem. He had noted that Baggins was quiet and withdrawn, and much less prissy than he’d been when they’d first intruded on his hospitality, but unlike Gandalf he considered that a good thing. Prissiness had no place on this quest, and Baggins’ particular brand of it could have only caused more problems than it was worth.

“The journey is too hard on him.”

“Yes,” Gandalf murmured, half to himself. “I believe it has been. Much harder than any of us could ever imagine.” Thorin scoffed, unable to stop himself. This was the very reason he hadn’t wanted Baggins along. He was far too soft for the hardships of their journey, and now they would all pay the price for his ineptitude.

The noise brought Gandalf out of his own musing; he gave Throin a narrow eyed look of warning. “Bilbo Baggins is much stronger than you have ever given him credit for, Thorin Oakenshield. He has agreed to assist you and has not voiced a single complaint since, and has saved your life and the lives of all of your company, yet you will insist on perceiving him as useless. Very well. It will be as you choose, though I think you could stand to learn a few lessons from Bilbo, if you would but relinquish a little of your pride.” He stood. “I believe I should speak to him myself. However, I would remind you that it is not becoming for a king to ignore the troubles of one in his realm, even if they are not his subject.”

Thorin scowled as Gandalf strode away. Why did everyone want to tell him how a king should behave? Balin, Gandalf, even Baggins had –

-but wait. Baggins had never made so much as a murmur about the way a king should act. He wouldn’t even have the courage to try. So then why did he feel as though he had? Thorin shook his head. The trolls must have addled his brains when they'd been knocking his head around, he told himself, and resolutely determined not to think on it any longer.

~****~

Bilbo stared into the fire, ignoring the bowl of soup at his feet and not really seeing or hearing anything around him. He was so tired, lately. Oh, physically he felt fine – there was never any damage done to his body when he woke in his bed – but his mind was straining as if under a great weight, and it was draining him as surely as if there were something physically wrong with him. He tried to focus on Rivendell, on the thought of a few nights’ reprieve from the stress of having to repeat this journey yet again, but it barely made a dent in the weariness that had settled over him of late. He tried to hide it, but it was so hard when he was so very, very exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he had to keep pressing on.

He knew he had to find a way to get past the despair that clawed at him, but it was so very, very hard. He told himself that if he didn’t, it would get the others hurt. They had to know that he could take care of himself; he couldn’t become a burden. He’d nearly failed them in the matter of the trolls, this time – he’d looked up into those massive faces and thought, just for a moment, that it didn’t matter if he said anything or not. Why not just let them kill the all? It wasn’t as if it would be permanent. Everything would start all over again, and again, and again, no matter what he did. The thought had frightened him badly enough to stutter his long memorized and well used lines, and distracted the trolls long enough for Gandalf to save them. Still, it had been close, for a few seconds. It had been very close.

Bilbo blinked hard. It would not do to be caught crying.  He had to wait a little longer, until the sun had fully set, and then he could curl in his bed roll, shut his eyes, and let his mind go. Until then he must hold it in. He’d seen the looks he’d already gotten from the others – they were worried that their burglar would not make the journey, and then who would they send in to steal from the dragon ensconced in Erebor’s once fine halls? They threw him worried sideways glances when they thought he was not paying attention, and it pained him. Worse were the disgusted looks he received from Thorin. _He_ was not worried. _He_ was vindicated in his belief that Bilbo would only slow them all down.

Oh, these thoughts did not help. Bilbo sighed heavily and buried his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes to stave off exhausted tears.

He heard movement beside him, rustling and a heavy sigh as someone settled their weight upon the ground. Bilbo let out a sigh of his own, not bothering to take his head out of his hands.

“Gandalf, while I appreciate your concern I really don’t wish to talk right now.”

There was a noise of amusement from his companion. “I wish I could leave it at that, burglar, but unfortunately I cannot.”

Bilbo’s head jerked up, his wide eyes flying to meet Thorin’s. The king was smiling as gently as Bilbo believed he knew how, and the sight stopped any further protest that he might have made. He could only gape. Thorin studied him carefully, and the longer he looked the more concerned his gaze grew. Bilbo looked away, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. He knew how he must look. Thorin was going to tell him that he should head back, that they didn’t need him on this journey, he would only hold them back…

“I must confess that I didn’t believe the wizard when he told me that you were unwell. I assumed that any discomfort you were feeling was due only to a soft life unused to hardship, but I can see now how wrong that assumption was.” He gave a heavy sigh. “It seems that I have been acting in a manner that does not befit my station. I have been treating you as a burden when I should instead have welcomed you as a valued member of my Company. Perhaps then the journey would not have been so hard on you.” Bilbo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; he was smiling wryly. “It would also seem I still have much to learn, for all that I have done and seen. I apologize, Master Baggins, for the way I have treated you, and ask that you not think of me too harshly for it. I have grown unaccustomed to the caring for anyone outside of myself and my people.”

Bilbo bit his lip briefly. “I understand, I think,” he said hesitantly, “and I would be very glad to accept your apology. I will try to do better as well. I _do_ want to help you, Thorin. Believe that, if nothing else.”

He was looking away, and so missed the brief start Thorin gave at his using his name so familiarly. The surprise soon passed, however, and once again Thorin studied him intently.

“If…if there is something weighing on you, I would listen, should you wish to speak of it.”

Bilbo smiled at Thorin gratefully. “Thank you for your offer. It is very kind. I think I feel lighter just for hearing it.” It wasn’t a lie. Some of the tightness in Bilbo’s chest had gone away, and he felt like he could really breathe for the first time since the journey had begun. “However, it isn’t something I wish to talk about.”

Thorin made a slight nod, offered a small smile in return. Bilbo felt his heart lighten even more, and thought with some amazement that even after everything, he still wanted Thorin’s acceptance. More than that, he wanted his friendship, and he thought that they might be approaching that already. His eyes met Gandalf’s across the fire – the old wizard looked unsurprised to see Thorin sitting next to him, and Bilbo had an idea that he’d manipulated things to achieve that end, somehow knowing that what Bilbo needed more than anything was another shoulder to lean on, should he choose it. That the shoulder be Thorin’s wasn’t a necessity, but it made sense, given that the others would happily follow his lead. He would hear no more grumblings about his uselessness, at any rate, and that had to make things just a bit better going.  

Things did get better, gradually. Bilbo did not suddenly rediscover his energy and become lively, but he did begin to feel cautiously hopeful all the same. By the time they reached Rivendell, he began to think that things might happen differently this time. Already things had changed. Once he had decided to accept Bilbo, Thorin had made it a point to get to know him as he never had before, at least not so early. He would occasionally seek him out while he smoked his pipe, and they would talk of gardening.

Bilbo had been surprised to find that they shared a passion for growing things – the last thing he could picture Thorin attempting was tending a garden. Yet Thorin explained that when they had been in exile, he had found that growing his own food kept his people from starving with more regularity than trying to find smithing jobs with Men, who often scorned his skills in favor of friends or others of their kind who needed work. He’d soon discovered that tending to his vegetables gave him time to think, time to let his mind go down the pathways that he often forbade it when surrounded by his people, for fear of them perceiving his longing for home as a weakness. In his turn, Bilbo spoke of his plants, of how he loved to see things growing from the earth where there had once been nothing. “And you’re right, it gives you time to think. That’s why I love it.”

The growing friendship between Thorin and Bilbo relaxed him enough that he could finally make overtures towards the others. They were tentative – a smile at one of Bofur’s bawdier jokes, a fond look at Fili and Kili’s antics, sitting quietly and smoking with Balin after dinner – but they were welcomed as though they were grand gestures of friendship. By the time they reached Rivendell, Bilbo had almost made his way back to feeling that the journey was mostly tolerable – but he still refused when he was invited to join the others in the moon room to look at Thorin’s map.

Thorin raised a brow at his refusal, and Bilbo hurried to explain. “I would love to come, truly I would, but I’m so tired from our journey, and from all the delicious food-“ with a polite nod to Elrond, who smiled enigmatically – “that I just can’t keep my eyes open any longer.” He half-closed his eyes to demonstrate, and send a pleading look towards Gandalf from under his lids.

Gandalf cleared his throat. “I thought that Bilbo might find the reading of the map interesting, but it is not as though he is _needed_ at this moment.” The slight emphasis to the words might have rankled Bilbo at one point, but now he was grateful for them, knowing they were meant for Thorin to understand that his part was to be completed after they’d already figured out how to enter Smaug’s lair. Thorin got the message; he gave a regal nod, then clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over as he did.

“Sleep well, Bilbo. You need the rest.”

Bilbo smiled gratefully and watched the others as they left for the moon room. Gandalf lingered, however, to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, if I had to hear that map being read one more time I’m sure it would drive me mad. I’ve got it memorized by now.”

Gandalf smiled briefly, then peered down at Bilbo with some concern. “You do look tired, my friend. Are you quite well?”

Bilbo smiled wryly. “Better than I was. I find that I am much more tired than I used to be – I supposed I’m getting old.”

Gandalf snorted. “Nonsense. You’ve still got years ahead of you.” His smile faded slowly as he returned to studying Bilbo’s face. “If you should need to unburden yourself…” he offered, and Bilbo shook his head.

“No, no. I’m quite alright. It’s all the walking; it’s catching up to me mentally, if nothing else. That is all, Gandalf, I’m sure.”

He didn’t look exactly convinced, but nodded, accepting Bilbo’s answer. Shortly after he clasped Bilbo on the shoulder and followed the others out of the room, and Bilbo breathed an inward sigh of relief.  Gandalf saw far too much, sometimes – Bilbo was afraid that he would see that his exhaustion went far past anything physical. The truth was that he was finally nearly tired enough of the whole cycle not to want to continue. The only things that spurred him on were Thorin’s friendship, his need to help his friends, and his faint, very faint, hope that this might be the last time, because Bilbo wasn’t sure he could handle going through it yet again.

Firmly putting the thought out of his mind, Bilbo found his bedroll, spread it out, and was soon asleep, but his dreams were troubled. Full of fire and pain and a taunting voice crying for him to “come out, little thief”, they proved more than anything else could that no matter how he tried not to think of them, the bad feelings would find a way to turn up.

They left Rivendell as they always did, in the earliest hours of the morning, and for once Bilbo didn’t bother turning back to catch a last glimpse of the beautiful place they were leaving behind. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on Thorin’s back and told himself that looking behind was silly, indeed. He would see the place again, one way or another.

Kili jostled him in a friendly way as he thought this. “Don’t you want to catch one last look at the place?” he asked with a grin. “We all know how much you loved it there – would have stayed if they’d asked, wouldn’t you?”

Bilbo laughed lightly, ignoring Thorin’s suddenly heavy tread ahead of him. “Not at all. Oh, I loved it there, to be sure, but I wouldn’t part with you before you reclaim your home for all the world.”

Kili beamed at him happily. “And that is why you’re our burglar.” He nudged Bilbo again, nearly sending him sprawling, and if it weren’t for Ori reaching out and grabbing ahold of his arm he would have fallen. “Sorry,” Kili called carelessly, and bounced over to join his brother. The two took to whispering, their heads bent close together, and Bilbo watched them with a fond smile on his face.

“I’m sure he really is sorry,” Ori said in a dry sort of voice, and Bilbo turned his smile on him.

“I’m sure he is. Or will be. In about an hour, when it occurs to him that I am much smaller.”

Ori laughed. “I think you’ve got it exactly right. More often than not Kili just doesn’t seem to think. Though I’m nearly positive that’s exactly how he wants to be perceived.”

“You mean if he acts the idiot, he feels he won’t be a disappointment.”

Ori shrugged. “It’s hard, being a younger brother. If I didn’t have my books and my writing I would surely have lost my mind trying to prove myself. I imagine it’s much worse when your uncle is a king and your older brother is his heir.”

“That’s right, Fili is to be King after Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, mostly to himself. “I’d forgotten.”

Ori looked at him with some confusion, then his face cleared. “Ah. Thorin must have mentioned it. You two have grown quite close.”

“Ah, yes. Thorin mentioned it.” Bilbo felt a blush heat his cheeks and turned his face away hastily. Thorin had of course told him no such thing, at least not during _this_ journey. _Oh, Bilbo, you have to remember to keep it all straight in your head. You were lucky this time, but you really need to be more careful or they’ll all soon start to suspect_. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell them, exactly. It was more that he’d already tried that, with Thorin, and it hadn’t turned out well. Bilbo had a feeling that trying to tell any of them would result in much the same. It was better, safer, to keep it to himself, and only occasionally seek Gandalf’s advice. It was his problem to solve, if he could. He ignored the panicked thought that he couldn’t. It wouldn’t do to think like that.

To distract himself, he turned back to Ori. “Are Dori and Nori not fans of reading and writing, then?” he asked, hoping to draw him out.

It worked. Ori’s face lit up. “Oh, no. They both read and write, of course. They just don’t have the passion for it that I do. It is my great ambition to take down the entire story of this journey and record it in a book, so that generations to come will be able to read it and understand our struggle, and our determination. I only hope I can do it justice.”

“I’m sure you can. You enjoy history, then?”

“Yes. I love it; it can tell us so much if we but listen.”

Soon they were deep into a conversation of books, delighted enough with each other and the discussion that they hardly noticed when it began to rain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, do leave a comment and tell me what you think!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another one. And in less than a month. I'm quite proud of myself. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to comment/kudos on the last chapter. I really appreciate it. You guys are the best!

It would be a lie to say that Bilbo had completely forgotten about the stone giants. He didn’t think that it would be possible for him to forget such a terrifying experience. Yet the conversation that he was having with Ori was so interesting that he did find himself caught off guard by them for the first time since – well, since the first time he’d been on this journey, he supposed. As a result he very nearly didn’t get himself pressed against the rock wall in time to avoid spilling over the side of the cliff once again.

Ori was not so lucky. Not having the advantage that Bilbo did of knowing what was coming, he was almost knocked off of his feet, and as he tried to regain his balance, one of his feet slipped off the cliff’s edge. His eyes widened in horror as he started to overbalance.

Bilbo saw this, but in his mind he was watching Bofur. Bofur, who he had accidentally kicked off of this very cliff so long ago. Bofur, who he had killed.

“NO!” he screamed, loud enough that the others, who had been distracted by keeping their own feet on the ground and by the separation from half their number, heard him even over the sounds of the thunder and their own cries and looked over. Bilbo took no notice. Pushing his own terror – which was very great indeed – aside, he flung himself forward and grabbed one of Ori’s flailing hands in both of his and gave a tremendous yank, pulling him out of harm’s way. Ori collapsed against the wall of the cliff, shaking, and Bilbo found himself tumbling over the side in his stead.

He reached out with grasping hands and found the edge of the cliff, stopping his fall and causing his shoulders to cry out in agony at the sudden pressure. He grimly ignored them, holding on with all his might and praying that one of the others would help him soon. _Hanging from the cliff again_ he thought wildly, _after all the trouble I took, hanging from the cliff again_ , and despite his terror he found himself laughing wildly. He continued to laugh even as Thorin risked his own life to save him, knowing he was a bit hysterical but unable to stop. It just struck him as horribly funny that somehow, things always circled back around. He was living proof of that, wasn’t he?

Once everyone’s feet were on solid ground again, Bilbo’s laughter tapered off. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes and praying that no matter how many more times he had to do this, he wouldn’t have to hang onto the edge of the cliff ever again.

“You’re okay, Bilbo,” Bofur said kindly, and Dwalin thumped him on the back companionably.

“Thought we’d lost our burglar,” he said cheerfully, and Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes, waiting with slumped shoulders for his censure. He knew it was coming – things always came back around, after all – but his legs were still shaking, his heart was still beating madly, and he really didn’t want to hear it.

“Are you alright, Bilbo?” Thorin asked quietly, looking him over with a gaze that held nothing but concern for his friend.

Bilbo blinked at him. “My shoulders hurt,” he replied dumbly, shocked into complete truthfulness by Thorin’s honest worry, “and I feel as though I might be sick, but at least I have my feet firmly on the ground.”

Thorin gave him a smile, and would have said more, but suddenly Dori had flung himself at Bilbo, thanking him profusely for saving his little brother, nearly knocking him back down in the process. Ori tried to pull him away, blushing scarlet, but Dori would not be moved.

Dori hugged him tightly, and Bilbo patted his back gingerly, wincing as more strain was put on his abused shoulders. Ori tugged again at Dori’s arm, and he finally pulled back.

“Thank you so much, Master Baggins,” he said earnestly. “I don’t know what we’d have done if we lost Ori.”

“Dori!” Ori cried, embarrassed. “Get off, you’re hurting him, can’t you see his face?” He gave another great pull and this time succeeded in detaching his brother from Bilbo’s neck. Once that was taken care of, he looked hard at Bilbo, his eyes bright.

“You saved my life. If you hadn’t grabbed me I would have gone right over that cliff. Thank you.”

Bilbo squirmed, his face hot. “Oh, can we please get out of this rain?” he blurted, and behind him Thorin laughed.

“Only if you’re finished. Come, Bilbo, walk with me.”

Bilbo gratefully fled from the gazes of the others and hurried to Thorin’s side. They would find the caves and rest a bit. Goblins and Gollums and Orcs had yet to be faced before they could truly rest, but at the very least they would face them _dry_.

That night, Bilbo stayed awake while everyone else slept. He’d offered to take the first watch so that Bofur might get some rest as well, and he sat with his back against the cave wall, his head tilted back to gaze up at the ceiling. He ached all over it seemed, but he felt pretty good, all the same. He’d saved Ori’s life, and it made up in a small way for taking Bofur’s so long ago. He hadn’t realized how much it had affected him until some of the weight had been let off. Now he knew, he could still feel the ache of it, but he thought that was good. It had kept him vigilant through so many journeys, and would continue to do so.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice a weight settle beside him, and started when Thorin spoke.

“You are something of a hero now, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “Oh, no. No more than the rest of you – it was something any of you would have done, had you but seen it.”

“Of that I have no doubt. And yet, none of us did see it. We were all afraid of falling, and you were the only one paying attention to Ori. The only one reached to save him.”

Bilbo blushed, looking down at his knees. “I was walking next to him, that’s all,” he mumbled, embarrassed. He wished that the others wouldn’t make such a fuss about it. He had saved Ori this time, but he hadn’t saved Bofur, or any of the others who had died in front of him. He couldn’t even save himself.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said gently. Bilbo looked up and Thorin smiled at him. It was a small, soft thing, and Bilbo found the fondness it contained hard to look at. His gaze slid down again. “I can see that you aren’t comfortable, so I will only thank you and say no more.”

Bilbo nodded, troubled. He’d never been so close to Thorin at the beginning of the journey, even the time or two when they had been friendly. This time they knew far more about each other than they ever had, and it pained him to think of what was coming. His mind far away, Bilbo did not notice the sword at his hip begin to glow, but Thorin, whose eyes had in fact not strayed far from the little hobbit, did. He stood with a shout to the others, but it was too late, the floors had activated and they were sliding down into the goblins lair.

He managed to get away from the others the same way as usual – simply by being little. He wanted to stay and help more than ever before, but he knew that he had to fetch his ring. It was easy enough to get – he didn’t actually need to deal with Gollum at all. He simply slipped on the ring as soon as he picked it up and made his way out of the cave. He’d done it enough that it was easy. He was glad for it. The Gollum creature tugged at him, made him want to cry for how horrible life must be for it, even though it was clearly equal parts insane and dangerous. He couldn’t imagine living the life that the creature did, and really didn’t want to. One great relief that he had was that he’d never taken the creature’s life, not on any journey. He just couldn’t bring himself to wish real harm on something so pathetic.

It was a good thing that he had the ring and knew its use, for he was tired and sore and probably wouldn’t have been much of a match for Gollum at any rate. He ached all over, and it was exacerbated by how little he’d been eating since beginning the new journey. He simply had to eat more, he decided as he made his way carefully down the hill out of the cave. If he kept on this way – sleeping as much as he could and ignoring the other needs of his body to escape the reality he had found himself in – he would not survive the journey. “I will not be the cause of yet another repeat of this nightmare,” he said firmly, unaware that he was speaking aloud. “That would be unbearable.” But would it be more unbearable than watching one of his friends die yet again? “Oh, the whole thing is unbearable,” he snapped irritably, and put it out of his mind. He shouldn’t obsess about death so much. It would only make things worse.

Bilbo came upon the others talking about his absence, as they always were. Thorin was speaking, looking grave, and he felt himself go cold. Surely he wouldn’t be so quick to believe that Bilbo would betray them this time, would he? He couldn’t possibly think –“

“-must assume that he can’t. That he’s still lost somewhere in there, unable to get to us. Did anybody see him?”

Nori spoke up haltingly. “I did. I saw him duck away from us when the goblins were taking us to their king.”

Everybody turned to look at him, and Bilbo’s heart sank. Thorin would call him coward, would bitterly announce that he had left them for home and hearth…

“I cannot believe that he did it to abandon us. That he would save Ori only to leave us behind at the first opportunity. There must have been another reason.”

Nori nodded, looking relieved. “You’re right, of course,” he said.

“That’s well and good, but how do we go about getting him back, Thorin?” Dwalin demanded, and there was a rumble of agreement from the others. Bilbo’s eyes filled to see them all so willing to head back into danger to save him. His friends, his dear friends. He owed it to them to do better. Owed it to their loyalty to do everything in his power to see them all through it safely. He stepped out of the trees.

Flying on the back of a giant eagle, watching Thorin’s lifeless looking body below him, Bilbo wondered at the king’s stupidity. Every time, without fail, he flung himself into battle with Azog. There was nothing that could stop him.  Bilbo wished that there were. He did not like seeing him look so very lifeless.

When he woke, Bilbo was the first one that Thorin asked for. He pushed himself heavily to his feet and simply looked at him for a few seconds. Bilbo did not worry, for once, that he was going to get a lecture. He simply met that steady gaze with his own, as his exasperation and worry built up inside of him.

“You appear to be making a habit of saving us, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, smiling, and Bilbo snapped.

“And a good thing it is too, since you are so determined to put yourself in danger! Why did you do that, Thorin? You had to know that he wanted you to, that he would have loved nothing better than to take your head and mount it on a stick somewhere.”

Thorin’s smile disappeared; he scowled heavily at Bilbo, mouth opening to retort. But Bilbo wasn’t finished.

“I know what it means to you that he is alive, and I know that you want to remedy that as soon as possible, but Thorin, you have to remember that killing him is not your main goal. It can’t be.” The others were gaping at them with wide eyes. Kili was clutching at Fili’s arm, and Fili was too stunned to bat him aside. Ori had his hands over his eyes. Gandalf was the only one who looked even remotely composed; though his mouth was set into a grim line, his eyes were twinkling merrily, and Bilbo had a very good idea that he wanted to smile. Bilbo gestured to include them all. “You are our leader. You brought us here to reclaim your home, and we will do so. But you can’t abandon us for revenge. You can’t risk your life that way when we all need you so.”

Thorin stared at him, then nodded stiffly and turned away. Bilbo put his hands over his eyes, trying to get himself under control. He was worn out, and sore, and for the first time, hungry. He began to look forward to Beorn’s house, and the amount of food he would be able to consume while there. It would give Thorin time to calm down as well.

Whether Thorin calmed down or not Bilbo did not know, for Thorin did not speak to him. At first Bilbo didn’t notice – he was too busy eating everything he could get his hands on. Somehow his energy and spirit had finally come back to him, and with it his appetite. By the time that they left Beorn’s house, Bilbo had gained back almost all of the weight that he had lost. Kili and Fili, amused at Beorn’s comment about Bilbo getting fat again, had taken to poking him at odd moments and crooning about the “fat little bunny”, very nearly driving him to distraction. Bofur and Bifur had banned together to make him a nice set of wooden buttons for his torn vest, and Dori had taken it upon himself to sew them on. Nori taught him how to pick locks, much to the displeasure of his brother. And Gandalf had taken him aside to confirm that he was indeed feeling better, and to give him a spot of encouragement before he parted with the group yet again.

With all this going on, it wasn’t any wonder that it took Bilbo until they were all trapped in the cells of Mirkwood to realize that Thorin hadn’t spoken two words to him since he’d lost his temper with him. He was only made aware of this when he went to speak to Thorin in his cell, and realized that he was nervous. It was upsetting, to understand suddenly that the one part of the journey that he and Thorin had usually been getting along had taken them so many steps backwards, all because Bilbo had to open his mouth.

 _But what could I have done_? He asked himself as he stood just outside Thorin’s cell, indecisive. _He is so reckless when it comes to that stupid white orc, I just wanted him to see that._

“I know you’re there,” Thorin informed him, and Bilbo sighed, steeling himself. He pulled off the ring and stepped forward.

“How are the others?” he asked immediately. “I assume you’ve been to see them.”

“I have. They are well, for the most part. Furious, worried about you and each other, but well for all that. They are being fed and treated with as much consideration as prisoners can be, I suppose, but of course are eager to be free.”

“And you? How are you faring?”

“I am also well enough. At the very least I am not trapped in these cells. I have been quiet, and quick, and have heard much. I have a plan for how to get us all out of here, but I want to run it by you first, of course.”

Thorin chuckled. “I have learned to trust your judgment, Bilbo. You have proved most valuable to our party, and I find myself glad more often than not that the wizard thought to make you the last of our number.”

Bilbo smiled. “I am glad. I do want to help you all, more than you know.”

Thorin regarded him seriously. “I believe you do,” he said gravely, and Bilbo swallowed hard. He didn’t want to bring it up, felt utterly foolish, but he couldn’t help himself.

“That’s why I said what I did, after the eagles saved us,” he said in a rush, looking down at his feet. “I know you didn’t appreciate it, and thought I was overstepping, but I just wanted to help. I was so worried – I _am_ so worried – about you. I just wanted –“

“I understand.”

Bibo’s head came up in surprise. “You do?”

“Yes. I do wish you had voiced your concerns privately, but I understand very well why you have them. Azog is…a special case. I do lose my mind where he is concerned, because he did something unforgiveable. I will kill him for that. However, you were right. That cannot be my only priority. I cannot let the others down. I will not.”

Determination colored Thorin’s voice; it was written all over his face. It gave Bilbo hope. If Thorin focused on helping the others, perhaps the gold sickness wouldn’t take him this time.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that in front of everyone. I’m sorry.”

Thorin smiled. “Don’t apologize. I rather enjoyed it.”

Bilbo gaped, which turned Thorin’s smile into a laugh, and that quickly, they were friends agian. “Tell me your plan, Bilbo.”

He did. Thorin approved wholeheartedly, and the real planning began.  

The time spent in Laketown was relaxing to them all. After spending so much time in the cells of Mirkwood, and then nearly drowning in their barrels in their escape, every last soul in the company was eager for a soft bed, and the Master’s warm welcome only made them want to stay longer. They had to move on, however, and they did, each of them excited to reach Erebor, even though they knew they’d have to face a dragon once they got there.

For Bilbo’s part, he was ready to meet Smaug again. The thought of the dragon was still terrifying, but it was a threat Bilbo had faced three times, and he was sure that if Thorin did not interfere he would return from the encounter unscathed. In his moments of pure honesty with himself Bilbo admitted that the real reason that he wasn’t as worried about facing Smaug was because all of his concern was for Thorin. The closer they got to Erebor the more tense he became. He began to speak more and more of the Arkenstone, and that in turn distracted Bilbo from any nervousness he might have felt about facing down a dragon in its lair. He felt that the real danger was the sickness in Thorin’s mind. A dragon could be fought, killed, but how could one kill the lust for treasure?

He watched Thorin carefully, searching for signs of gold madness, but aside from his mentioning the Arkenstone more often and with more reverence than he had before, there was nothing. If anything he seemed less interested in the glint of treasure than he had previously. The proof of this was given when Bilbo went in to face the large dragon. It was Thorin who walked him through the tunnel, looking troubled. When they reached the end he grasped Bilbo’s shoulder and fixed him with an earnest gaze.

“You needn’t get close to him if he’s there, or try to grab anything large. Even a small cup would do. We just need confirmation that he is alive, and that the treasure is still inside. That is all. Don’t do anything that might endanger your life.”

Bilbo grinned up at his friend and removed the hand at his shoulder, grasping it in both of his own. “I promise to be as careful as I can, and not laugh at him. Laughing at a dragon is a sure way to make him very, very angry.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Bilbo!” Thorin’s grip on Bilbo’s fingers was tight enough to hurt, and he winced. “You once told me not to be reckless; now it is my turn to say the same. Keep yourself alive, my friend.”

Bilbo gently pulled away. “That is my intent, of course. I do not wish to be incinerated. I will confirm that Smaug is still there, grab something small, and be back before he’s even realized.” He knew, of course, that it would not work that way, but he wanted to reassure Thorin and a small lie seemed necessary.

Thorin nodded. He made an effort to smile, then gave it up as a bad job, stepping back instead and simply gazing at Bilbo with a furrowed brow. Bilbo gave a cheerful smile and wave and resolutely turned away, walking quickly and quietly out of Thorin’s sight before he slipped on the ring. Time to face a dragon.

He knew where to look for the Arkenstone, now, and so managed to grab it before Smaug had opened his eyes. He had a brief moment when he thought that he might not have to talk to the dragon at all, that he might escape unnoticed, but his hopes were dashed when Smaug's voice cut through the silence. “Now, now, little thief, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like to let me know what you thought, please leave a comment. :D


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a roll. Oh yes I am.
> 
> *stares* And I'm also over 50,000 words. I know that isn't a big deal to some authors here, but this has officially become the longest thing I have ever written.

Bilbo froze, his mind going completely blank with shock. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound escaped. He could not believe it. Had Smaug recognized him? How could that be possible.

There was a deep sniff from just behind him; Bilbo swayed on his feet with the exhale.

“No…” the voice murmured. “Not an old friend, then. A new one, who has traveled with the old. No need to ask what brings him, no. It is my treasure he’s after. His scent is crawling with those dwarves…and men! _Laketown_ men. Tell me, little thief, how came you to be here?”

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief, his legs going weak and nearly spilling him to the ground. He drew in a shaky breath, but did not answer. That voice was far too close. He waited for Smaug to speak to him again, and used the cover of his voice to move away carefully, trying his best not to make any extra noise.

“Oh, don’t be shy now, new little friend. You’ve already come unbidden into my home and taken my treasure – don’t think I am unaware of what it is in you’ve taken. Speak up, tell me your name. Let us have a little chat.”

Bilbo peered around from a pile of treasure. Smaug’s eyes were scanning the coins, bright and curious, his nostrils flaring every so often as he tried to pick up on Bilbo’s scent. He knew he would have to speak soon, but he still didn’t trust his voice. He could not sound terrified of the dragon, or he would die.

“You know, thief, you _do_ smell familiar. Not the dwarf-scent, nor the man-scent, but another, one I have smelled before, though the memory is very faint. How is that possible, thief, fiend, false new friend?”

“I do not know, O Smaug, King of Calamity. My people do not like to travel, and we live far from here generally, but you are very well traveled I am sure, and might have come upon one of us at some point.” Bilbo did not think that Smaug had come across another hobbit in his life, but that wasn’t something one said. The thought that perhaps Smaug was remembering _him_ nearly caused his voice to shake, but he kept it under control by force of will.

“Ah, so he does speak. As your voice works, tiniest of thieves, do me the favor of gracing me with your name. It is the least you can do, and I do so like to know the identities of all my guests.”

“I am called many things, Smaug, Terriblest of Terribles. I am barrel-rider, spider-slayer, friend of Bears and Elves. My Sting is sharp and fierce, my riddle solving unparalleled. I am Traveler, Wanderer, Walker and Rider, and I have journeyed far and wide to gaze upon your magnificence.”

“That is all very well, my imaginative little Traveler,” Smaug replied, obviously pleased, “but if you came to gaze upon me, why do you hide? Isn’t it polite to allow a gaze to be returned? Step out into the light, and let me look upon you in all your glory.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Bilbo replied, still backing away very carefully. “I am afraid I am nowhere near as wonderful as you, O Smaug the Magnificent and Frightening. I am very little, and I do not think it would please you to see.”

“Oh, but it _would_ please me, very much,” Smaug purred, and moved closer. Bilbo bent down slowly, his wide eyes fixed upon Smaug’s giant face, and picked up a handful of coins. There was a golden cup next to them, and he took hold of this as well, and put it in his pocket. The coins he flung away from him. They skittered over the rest and Smaug’s head jerked towards the sound, his mouth opening in a triumphant roar and he lunged towards what he assumed was his adversary. Bilbo ran.

Smaug gave another cry, and charged at him, but Bilbo had a decent start, and made it to the mouth of the tunnel before he could quite reach him. As he flung himself down the tight pathway, he began to laugh hysterically, and he continued to laugh even as an enraged dragon belched fire down the tunnel after him. The fire scorched at his back and set his jacket to smoldering; he lost some of the hair at the back of his head and the backs of his legs were burned, but still Bilbo laughed.

He had the presence of mind to yank the ring off of his finger and stick it back into his pocket just before he charged out of the secret doorway and back into the night to the gasps of his friends, where he collapsed heavily onto the ground and rolled over, giggling into the stars. His eyes caught Thorins and he stuttered through his giggles, “I’m a-afraid I forgot not to l-l-laugh,” and then he was off again. He knew the laughter was mostly from nerves and relief to be out of the dragon’s clutches, but it felt very good just the same. It felt like a wound he didn’t even know he’d had was closing, finally, after being open and weeping for a very long time.

 Once the giggles tapered off, he pulled the cup out of his pocket. “The treasure is still there,” he told them all, then rubbed ruefully at the burns on his legs. “Unfortunately, so is the dragon. Smaug is alive and well, and now I suppose he is also very angry. He did not want me to get away, you see. However, I was very brave and far too low to the ground for him to catch me properly. I don’t think it pleased him.”

As if in answer, there was a roar from inside the mountain so loud that the ground beneath them shook, and a sudden explosion from below as Smaug flung himself out of his stolen home, heading for Laketown with a speed born of pure fury. Bilbo gulped. He remembered the bare spot in his jeweled armor and a brave man in Laketown, and prayed his aim would prove true once again.

The others of course were delighted, and wasted no time in trooping through the door reclaim their home, keeping one ear cocked for a dragon’s roar at all times. Soon enough even that was forgotten, however, in the hunt for the one thing that began to consume Thorin’s mind more and more: the Arkenstone.

The sickness was upon him again, and Bilbo had a decision to make. He’d already tried going to Bard with the stone, and death had been the result. He’d tried giving it to Thorin with the same. Sometimes, when the others weren’t around he would take it out to look at it, admiring how beautiful it was in the light, but then he would put it back with a guilty start, feeling uneasy. It was just a stone, after all. Beautiful yes, but still a stone. Ridiculous that Thorin had invested so much in it.

An emissary came from Bard, asking for aid due to the destruction wrought by the dragon. Thorin, furious and caught firmly in the thralls of gold sickness, turned him away with an arrow as his answer. They had all caught Thorin’s fervor, and with the dragon taken care of the search became all that any of them cared about. More than sleep, more than meals and rebuilding their home, every day had become about counting up coins and gems and looking, looking for the Arkenstone.

Bilbo often opted out of the searching, preferring to wander around and imagine what Erebor might look like if Thorin and the others would but take the time to restore it. He imagined how it must have been before Smaug had come, and the thought took his breath away. He wanted, more than anything, for the others to stop their fruitless searching and turn to what was important, namely making Erebor their home once more.

Thorin found him on one of these walks. He held something behind his back, and his eyes were mostly clear for the first time since he’d entered Erebor. “I have something for you, Bilbo,” he said, and Bilbo tried to smile. He had a good idea of what was behind Thorin’s back, and it hurt to think about.

Sure enough, he held the coat of mithril. “We unearthed this last night, but you were nowhere to be found, my friend. The helmet would not fit your head at all, but this, I think, will suit.” He made to hand the mail to Bilbo, who backed away quickly, shaking his head.

“I can’t accept that, Thorin, please don’t ask it of me.”

Thorin laughed lightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bilbo. Of course you can, and will. You’ve earned this. This, and more, and it all shall be yours once we find the Arkenstone and begin to rebuild. This is not even a tenth of what we owe you.”

“No. I can’t take it.” The Arkenstone seemed to grow very heavy in his pocket indeed, and he had the sudden urge to get out his ring and put it on, to disappear and get out of this conversation. He couldn’t take the mithril. Not knowing just how valuable a gift it was, not when he was gearing up to do something that Thorin would consider the greatest betrayal of all.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, the happiness fading out of them. “It is my wish that you take this. It is a gift. Will you still refuse me?”

“I fear I must.” Bilbo heard the tremble in his voice, but he stood firm. He could not take such a gift, not when Thorin would want to take it back later.

“I do not understand you. I thought you would be pleased.” Thorin sounded completely bewildered, and worse, he sounded hurt, which tore at Bilbo’s heart. He almost caved and decided to take the gift, simply to do away with that hurt tone, but instead he stepped back, lacing his hands together to keep them from reaching out. He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

Thorin’s fists clenched. “I see.” He looked at the mithril coat, then back up at Bilbo. “This is yours. It will go to one else, and if you do not claim it, it will only collect dust. I will hold it for you until you change your mind.” The tone of his voice said clearly that he expected Bilbo to change his mind, and soon. Without giving Bilbo time to reply he turned and strode away, his back very straight.

Bilbo slumped. His eyes filled with tears as he stared down at the ground. “Oh, Thorin,” he said softly, “I wish I knew the best way to help you.”

He went to Bard’s camp that night. After careful consideration, he had decided that it would the best course of action would be to get the Arkenstone into different hands. He didn’t trust himself not to cave and give it to Thorin, and he knew that without it the king wouldn’t even listen to Bard’s plea. So that night he offered to take the watch from Bombur, who accepted his offer gratefully. When he was sure that the others were well occupied with either sleeping or searching for the Arkenstone, Bilbo slipped on his ring and stole into the night, knowing that he would have to make haste if he wanted to be back before the morning.

Getting into Bard’s tent was easier than it had been the other times, for this time Gandalf was waiting for him. “I thought you might decide to try this,” was the only explanation he offered when he materialized out of the darkness just outside of Bard’s camp. With Gandalf by his side no one questioned him walking directly to Bard, and even better, upon Gandalf’s word Bard sent his men away so that he and Bilbo might speak in private.

Bilbo made to step into the tent with Bard when Gandalf spoke. “We are going to need to discuss your new ability to become invisible, Bilbo my friend.”

He started, a small gasp leaving him, but then squared his shoulders and pretended not to hear. He entered the tent.

Bard regarded him with frank curiosity. “I have to admit that I am astonished to see one of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company in my presence this evening. I rather thought that all of you were of the same mind regarding my claim.”

Bilbo sighed. “You deserve help,” he answered, “but Thorin cannot see it as he is. Which is why I have come here. I have something that you might use to bargain with him, to make him listen to you at least.” He pulled the Arkenstone out his pocket. It shone in the candlelight, and Bards eyes widened when he saw it.

“The famed Arkenstone,” he breathed. “I had always believed it to be a myth, but here I see it before my eyes, and a too brave halfling is encouraging me to use it to bargain my way into the King of Erebor’s good graces. Am I dreaming?”

“It is no dream, and I will be the first to tell you that Thorin will not take kindly to your having this. It is his one treasure, the thing that drives him, and he will be very, very angry to see it in your hands. However, if you are clever, you can use it to get the money you need to rebuild your home.”

Bard’s eyes glittered as he regarded Bilbo. “And if I choose to keep it?” he asked softly. “That stone you hold in your hand is worth far more than I think you realize, Master Baggins.”

“Are you testing me, sir?” Bilbo asked. “You must know that if you want to keep the stone, you will have to kill me to do it. It wouldn’t be hard – I am very small and not half so skilled with a sword as you – but I do not believe it is the foundation you want your new home built on.”

Bard smiled, and the smile made him look younger, somehow. “You are right, of course. You forget that I could simply pretend to agree with your plan and then return home with the gem, but I do not wish to do that either. I simply want what is owed me. As for the Arkenstone, it is enough to know that it exists, and to have seen it with mine own eyes.” His mouth slid into a grim line. “There are less pleasant tales of that stone, little Halfling. Tales of what can happen when one tries to possess it.”

Bilbo nodded. “It would be wise to listen to those tales.” He passed the stone over to Bard, hesitated, then said in a rush, “Please, don’t antagonize him too badly when you return it. He’s usually far more reasonable, but right now he’s not himself. Please try to remember that.”

Bard regarded him steadily. “You really care for him, don’t you?”

He smiled, a soft, sad thing that hurt Bard’s heart to see. “He’s my king.”

Bard accompanied him to the edge of camp, where he asked in a way that said he fully expected to be rejected if Bilbo would consider staying with him. “We could protect you from his inevitable wrath.”

“I cannot. I must see this through. I will not hide from my choice, although it will cost me every friend. I am doing this for his good – even if he can’t see it now, I hope he will in future.” Part of Bilbo hoped that he could manage to talk some sense into Thorin before Bard arrived, but he did not really believe that it was possible.

“I will give you as much time as I can, but I fear it will not be enough. Good luck, Master Baggins.” With that farewell, Bard returned to his camp, leaving Bilbo with Gandalf.

They walked for a time in silence, until Bilbo reluctantly broke it. “I found something more than my courage in the goblin caves,” he admitted, his voice little more than a whisper. He fished the ring out of his pocket and showed it to Gandalf, then slipped it on his finger. He took it off immediately, avoiding Gandalf’s eyes.

The wizard puffed at his pipe a little, then sighed. “I do not like it, Bilbo, though I cannot precisely say why. It seems to me an object that powerful might have an owner. One who might do horrible things to have it back.”

Bilbo shook his head hard. “It belonged to a filthy creature inside those tunnels, Gandalf. If it should come to it, I can handle that. And it’s proved so very helpful – I never would have made it this far without it.”

“Still. Promise me that you will try not to use it anymore, at least not until I have found out more about it.”

Bilbo’s fingers curled tightly around the ring, and angry words crowded in his mouth. He swallowed them down with difficulty, a little alarmed by how furious Gandalf’s suggestion had made him. _He just doesn’t see how much the ring has done for you_ , he thought, and then another thought came to him. _He asked you to promise to_ try. _If you have to use the ring again, he can’t hold it against you. Give him the promise he seeks, and do precisely as you choose_. He didn’t feel quite comfortable with that second thought – it didn’t necessarily seem to come from his own mind as from outside of it – but it made sense to him, and so he smiled cheerfully and told Gandalf that indeed, he would try not to use the ring anymore, if that was what he wished. Gandalf studied him for a long moment before nodding, obviously dissatisfied but willing to take Bilbo at his word.

“And now, my friend, we must part. I have work to do elsewhere, though I will try to make it back to you before the confrontation is to take place. Keep your courage, Bilbo. I have a feeling that it will all work out in the end.”

 _Right, because it’s all worked out so well before_ , he thought bitterly, but smiled and made his goodbyes. He waited until he could no longer see Gandalf before slipping on the ring. He needed to use it, he reasoned, just in case one of the others had come looking for him and noted his absence. Luck was with him, however, and no one was there. The others were still far too focused on finding the Arkenstone. Bilbo took off the ring, heaved a great sigh of relief, and settled down to make it look as though he had been there all night.

He tried to speak to Thorin all that day, but he might as well have tried talking to a wall for all the good it did him. Still smarting over his rejection of the mithril coat, Thorin was even more dismissive than usual, and barely listened to a word that Bilbo had to say. Finally, sick with fury and nerves and worried out of his mind, Bilbo blurted, “If I take the coat, will you finally pay attention to me?”

Bifur, who was searching near them, stopped and gaped. Thorin’s face went very red, and he didn’t look at Bilbo as he spoke.

“It was meant as a gift, and as such it is your choice whether or not to accept it. And as for how much attention you are being paid, you are hardly a child, Master Baggins. Surely you must realize that I have more important things to occupy my time.” He strode away from Bilbo, ignoring the still gaping Bifur and not looking back.

Bilbo was furious. Of all the pompous things! He was going to give that idiot a big piece of mind. He went after Thorin, but found his way impeded by Kili and Fili, both of whom dragged him back to the area they had been searching, begging loudly for his help and not releasing him until Thorin had disappeared. Bilbo vowed he would not escape so easily. If he had to use his ring, so be it; he would find Thorin Oakenshield and _force_ him to listen.

He never got the chance. Thorin managed to avoid him the rest of the day and the next morning, Bard had arrived.

They all went out to meet him, everyone abandoning their search for the Arkenstone to confront this new threat. Thorin, defiant and proud, glared down at him from atop the mountain, demanding in a carrying, imperious voice for Bard to get out of his sight immediately. The sight of Thranduil next to Bard seemed to spur him into an even greater fury, and Bilbo wished fervently that he’d thought to tell Bard not to have him front and center. Then again, he decided, looking down into the cold face, Thranduil probably wouldn’t have done as bid anyway. His grudge with Thorin was far too strong.

“I will ask one more time for aid,” Bard said. He spread his hands. “We have slain the dragon and in the process lost many of our homes. We will need funds to rebuild. Surely you can spare some of your gold to help us.”

“And what of Thranduil?”

The Elf King raised a brow. “We have lost much as well. Surely you would not begrudge us a little assistance?” He smirked slightly, and Thorin bristled.

“I owe you nothing! Where were you when Smaug was laying waste to our home so long ago? Where were you when we returned to claim it back? Hiding in your town and your woods, that is where, and now that we have done so you want to share the spoils. The answer is no. Now get out of my sight before I make you regret coming here to beg at all.”

Thranduil opened his mouth, but was silenced by Bard’s hand on his arm. The man looked up at Thorin sorrowfully, then beyond him, his eyes searching for Bilbo. When they found him, they sent a silent apology.

“I did not wish to do this. I would have preferred that we come to an agreement without it, but it seems you would rather fight. I have something that might change your mind.” He beckoned, and one of his men stepped forward, carrying a chest. He set the chest on the ground and Bard opened it. The Arkenstone caught the light of the sun, setting of brilliant sparks in every direction, and Thorin let out a cry.

“Thief!” he roared. “You dare to come here and ask for gold, and all the while you had my Arkenstone. How did you come by it? Did you sneak in as we slept and steal it, thief?”

“I am no thief,” Bard answered calmly. “I have not once entered your mountain and never will, if that is your wish. I ask only that we make an exchange.”

“I’ll not exchange with thieves and liars. You will give me back what is mine and perhaps I will allow you to leave with your head attached to your body.” Thorin was so furious that he was shaking, and Bilbo quailed inside. He knew what came of such an anger, and he did not want to go through it again. Yet he saw Thorin’s look to Kili, saw him draw up his bow, and knew that he must. He stepped forward.

“There is only one thief here, Thorin Oakenshield, and he is the one _you_ hired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do tell me what you think! I love to hear from you guys.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not normally given to long-winded Author's Notes - I understand full well how tl;dr they can be. This time, however, I am going to break that trend a bit, so please bear with me. 
> 
> You might have noticed that this story is now marked as complete (well, I've marked it 30/30. if there is some other way to mark it as finished I will have to locate it, but it shall be done). I just want to take a moment to thank every single one of you: the regular commenters, the kudosers, the lurkers (I can't imagine I have any, but just in case :D). Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. 
> 
> Also, thank you to the original prompter on the kink meme, should they ever see this. This prompt was gold, and I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> So, without further babbling from the author, enjoy!

Thorin spun around, furious. “You. _You_ took the Arkenstone?”

Bilbo’s head came up. “I did. I was owed a fourteenth of the treasure, was I not? That was the prize I chose.”

“That was never an option. The Arkenstone is mine.”

“And you can have it again. Just trade my fourteenth of the treasure for it, and let them go on their way.”

“Oh, they shall have it. And you, miserable little thief, cursed hobbit, you will go with them, and no friendship of mine will go with you.” He took a threatening step forward, and Bilbo, vividly recalling what had happened the last time they had been in this situation, reacted instantly.

“You stay back!” he cried, pulling Sting out of his belt and brandishing it in front of him. “You’ll not toss me off a cliff this time, Thorin Oakenshield – I’ll run you through first!”

Thorin gave him an ugly look. “I do not plan to toss you off of any cliff, thief. I am not the monster you would paint me as. I want you gone, and to understand if you ever return, your life truly will be forfeit.”

Bilbo nodded. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he hardly noticed or cared. “I understand,” he replied in a wrecked voice. “I understand that you are following a path that will lead to your destruction. Can’t _you_ understand that I was only trying to _help_?”

Thorin scoffed. “Yours is help that I can do without,” he sneered. “Now get out of my sight.”

Bilbo cast his eyes around for a friendly face, someone to help him, but saw only Thorin’s hate reflected in each of his friend’s eyes. Defeated, he hung his head, and let down his sword. Tears dripped off of his nose to be sucked up by the dirt beneath him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Looked up and met Thorin’s eyes, trying one last time to reach past the madness they contained.

“This is exactly what happened to your grandfather, you know. Don’t you realize you’re making the same mistakes he did, for the same reasons? You once told me that you were terrified of this very thing happening, but the only way to make sure it doesn’t is to _fight_ it, and you won’t even _try_.” He turned away, forcing the last words past his choked throat. “And I don’t know how to make you.”

“How…how did you know that?” The words were soft, bewildered. “I have never spoken of that fear to a soul, either living or dead.”

Bilbo shook his head. “You told me. Once. Long ago, but you probably don’t remember.”

“I don’t. Bilbo.” A hand gripped his shoulder, and Bilbo flinched. The grip was gentle, however, and Thorin used it to turn him around. A hand slid under his chin and lifted his face up, forcing him to meet Thorin’s eyes, which were clear for the first time since entering Erebor. Bilbo’s own eyes widened, his heart starting to pound as he dared to hope, to believe…

“I am so sorry, my friend. You have been trying to help me all this time and I haven’t realized it. I have been blinded by my own greed, making the mistakes of my grandfather even as I swore I never would.” He smiled wryly. “You keep saving me, Master Baggins. I can only hope that one day I’ll be able to return the favor.”

Fresh tears spilled from Bilbo’s eyes, but he beamed up at Thorin through them. “I don’t care if you ever do,” he said honestly, “I’m just so glad that you’re _you_ again.”

Thorin clasped Bilbo’s shoulder, then turned back to Bard. “Of course we will help you,” he said, “Forgive me for my earlier behavior. I wish for us to be friends; Dale and Erebor were allies before Smaug, and I would have their descendants as friends once more.”

Bard’s face creased in surprise, and then he broke out into a grin. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, sounding quite relieved.

Beside him Thranduil cocked his head. “And of the elves?” he asked silkily, obviously fully expecting Thorin to reject their claims with the same fervor as before.

Thorin narrowed his eyes, then visibly reined in his anger. “If you truly need aid, then we will provide it. But remember this day, Thranduil, should we ever need your assistance. Remember it well, and do not forsake us.” The _not again_ was left unspoken, but everyone present heard it just the same. Thranduil’s eyes widened slightly, but then he gave a slight bow to show he understood. Bilbo let out the breath that he had been holding throughout the tense exchange. Somehow, it had all worked out. He felt like he could sing.

Of course, they didn’t have much time to enjoy the new peace before the threat of the orcs was once again upon them. Tensions ran high as everyone realized a battle was to be had despite the new peace they’d found with each other, and before the fighting truly began Thorin dragged Bilbo back inside the mountain and fairly threw the mithril coat at him.

“You will wear this. It will help keep you safe – I don’t care if you want it or not.”

“Thorin-“

“No.  If I could, I’d keep you in here where your safety is guaranteed, but by now I know better than that. This mail will at least give you some measure of protection. Wear it, please, even if you won’t keep it.”

Bilbo took the mail. “Of course.”

He was grateful for the mithril in the midst of the battle. He didn’t want to be in it, but he couldn’t just run away either. Gandalf had arrived just in time, as was his wont, and he was knocking orcs and wargs down left and right. Bard was fighting brilliantly, as were all of the company, and Thranduil and his elves were also doing plenty of damage. The carnage was brutal, however. Wherever Bilbo looked he saw both friend and foe being cut down, and even as he added his own small sword to the fray he wondered what the point of it all was.

He tried to keep Thorin in his sight, but lost him fairly quickly in the confusion and clashing of steel on steel. It wasn’t hard to spot the white orc when he arrived, however, and Bilbo, who knew Thorin far too well, understood what was coming a split second before it happened. Thorin flung himself into a fight with Azog, paying little attention to anything else, and found himself once again disarmed. Azog advanced, sword raised, and even as far away as he was, Bilbo saw Thorin close his eyes in defeat.

“No, oh, no.” Bilbo cried, and flung himself forward. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get to them fast enough, but he had to try. However, he failed to notice his own surroundings, and something hit him in the back with enough force to knock him off of his feet. His head met the ground and he slammed into black.

Bilbo woke in bed. He sat bolt upright, his heart in his throat. Weak sunlight filtered into the room, and Bilbo let out a cry of despair. “No, no, no, no,” he whimpered, rocking back and forth, hands over his face. “Not again.”

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s head jerked to the side. Gandalf was peering at him. Bilbo looked around. He was not in his room in the Shire at all, but in a small medical tent. In is utter certainty that the loop had restarted, he had seen what wasn’t there at all. He winced. His head hurt. He reached back gingerly and felt around, discovering a large lump. He flinched away from his own fingers.

Gandalf put a hand on his arm. “Bilbo, if you feel able…Thorin is asking for you.”

Bilbo stared. “Is it over?” he asked. Gandalf nodded. “Is everyone…are they okay?”

“Are you well enough to stand, Bilbo?”

“Gandalf, _is everyone okay_? Is Thorin? Gandalf, _answer me_.”

Gandalf sighed heavily. “You might want to come, Bilbo, if you are able. Thorin is not well.”

Bilbo sprang up too fast and nearly fell back down again, dizzy. Gandalf helped him to stand, and Bilbo leaned on him heavily. His terror for Thorin was making his legs shake, and we was grateful for the support. As they made their way to Thorin’s tent, Bilbo looked around. Dead orcs and wargs were strewn all over the ground, left indifferently when the men, elves, and dwarves had collected their dead for burial. There were several bloodied dwarves that Bilbo didn’t recognize assisting, and next to Thorin’s tent was another. Beside him rested the head of the white orc. He noticed Bilbo’s gaze and gave him a wan half smile. “Unsanitary to bring it in there, but I thought Thorin might appreciate it,” he said. His gaze shifted to Gandalf. “You should get in there now. He’s fading.”

Bilbo clutched at Gandalf, shaking his head in denial. It couldn’t be, not after everything. Not after Thorin had managed to snap himself out of his madness and become the King Bilbo knew he could be. No.

Thorin was pale and sweating. He tossed back and forth on his own makeshift bed, muttering under his breath. There was a bloodstained cloth tied about his forehead, and another over his chest. There were dark circles under his eyes, giving them a horrible, bruised look that hurt Bilbo to see. Fili was sitting by him, but when they saw Bilbo, they moved hastily out of the way, and not a moment too soon. Pushing away from Gandalf, Bilbo practically fell into the chair that Fili had just vacated. He groped for one of Thorin’s hands, his eyes blinded by tears. “Thorin,” he whispered.

Thorin’s eyes opened. “Bilbo,” he said, his voice weak. “My little burglar. I am so glad you’re alive.” His hand twitched in Bilbo’s. “I was very worried about you.”

“Me!” Bilbo cried. “I can take care of myself. You should have worried about yourself, then you wouldn’t be in this mess. But you’re going to get better. The battle has been won; you can rest and get your strength back.”

“I am afraid that I am beyond that, my friend. I should have listened to you about Azog, but instead I allowed my anger to get the better of me. We fought; he struck me down. Kili and Fili tried to protect me and they too were knocked aside. Kili is alive, but only just, and Fili…”

“Thorin, don’t. I’m fine. I’m right here.” His arm was secured firmly to his chest and there was blood in his hair, but Bilbo could tell he would recover. Thorin, however, shook his head.

“Is your brother? Am I? In my selfish pride I have endangered those who matter most to me. I would gladly give my life if it meant that Kili’s would be spared, but I fear it is not in my power to do that.”

“Stop it, Thorin,” Bilbo said firmly. “Rest. Close your eyes and rest. You will get better. You have to. We’ll stay here with you until you’re well. Kili will be well, too. You’ll see.”

Thorin gave him a small smile. “I am glad you are here. When I think of what might have happened had I succeeded in my efforts to banish you...when I think of how we might not have parted as friends, I - ”

“No. I will not listen to any more of this. I do not want your final goodbyes, Thorin, save them for later, for many, many years from now, when you are old and tired and ready to leave your life behind on your own terms. You are not to die on this battle field. I won’t allow it. You listen to me.”

“I have learned that listening to you is usually the wisest course,” Thorin agreed, then closed his eyes.

“Thorin?” His eyes did not open. “No. Thorin? Thorin, you can’t do this to me, you can’t!” Bilbo sobbed. He shook Thorin’s shoulder, but still his eyes did not open. Next to him, Fili began to cry as well. He and Bilbo leaned into each other and Bilbo closed his eyes, waiting to wake up.

Only he didn’t.

He could still feel Fili beside him, feel his body shaking with sobs as he clung to him. He could hear Gandalf behind him, his breathing heavier as he struggled with his own tears.

“No,” he said, “Not this time. Not now. I have to go back, to make it right.”

“Bilbo.”

“No!” he yelled. “It isn’t supposed to work this way. I have to keep trying until everyone lives! That’s the only way to stop it.”

Gandalf put his hand on his shoulder, gently removing him from Fili’s arms. “Perhaps that was never what was supposed to happen,” he said. “I think, my dear Bilbo, that perhaps you were meant to help Thorin become the King he was always meant to be.”

“But what’s the use of that if he dies anyway?” Bilbo demanded, furious. Gandalf had no answer. Bilbo turned away from him, closing his eyes and willing himself into his own bed, back at the beginning of his journey once again. “No, it has to start over. I just have to wake up, that’s all. I have to wake up.”

“Gandalf, what is he talking about? What does he mean, wake up?” Fili demanded, but if Gandalf made a reply, Bilbo never heard it. His injuries and stress finally caught up with him, and he listed sideways as he fell unconscious.

When he next woke, he knew instantly that he was back in the mountain, even though he was in a room he’d never before seen, with a soft bed underneath him and candlelight flickering on the walls. He sat up slowly, wary of his injuries, and was surprised when he felt very little pain.

“You’ve been asleep for six days,” Gandalf informed him. Bilbo turned his head and saw the wizard sitting at the side of his bed, looking worn. “We feared that you might not come out of it. Everyone was very worried.”

“Six days?” Bilbo said in surprise. “So then it really is over?”

Gandalf gave him a smile. “I believe it must be. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some very worried dwarves that will want to hear the good news.”

When he was left alone, Bilbo bowed his head. Thorin was gone. His friend, his King, gone from Middle Earth forever thanks to Azog. It seemed so unfair that Bilbo had finally gotten his wish, but at the expense of his dearest friend. He could not find it in him to be happy about not repeating the journey. If he had it all to do one more time, perhaps he could save Thorin’s life.

The door to his room opened, and Kili entered. He had a deep scar running down the left side of his face, and he dragged that foot a little as he walked, but other than that that he looked mostly okay. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. Kili saw it and laughed…but only half of his mouth lifted. The left side stayed stubbornly put.

“Azog sliced my face up, and then one of his orcs kicked me while I was on the ground. It’s very hard to move my left side, and I can’t hear anything out of that ear, but I’m alive. That’s important, or so I’m told.” There was a slightly bitter twist to his mouth as he said this, and Bilbo thought of how skilled he had been with a bow, how light on his feet he’d always been, and his heart hurt for him.

“Don’t be too sad for me, Bilbo,” Kili said, some of his cheerfulness returning. “I would rather be maimed than dead, and you and uncle spent far longer in bed than I did, in the end.”

Bilbo blinked as Kili’s words registered. “Thorin’s alive?” he demanded, and Kili nodded.

“Yes. Fili told me how he was acting when you were with him. Very dramatic, the pair of you, scared my brother nearly out of what little wits he has, but neither of you are dead, so that’s well.” He checked behind him and lowered his voice. “Thorin might never have full use of his arm, though, and he’s still very weak. He would insist on coming down here, however, and how could we refuse him?”

“You couldn’t,” Thorin answered, and Bilbo looked up to see him enter his room, supported by Fili and Dwalin. He was still pale, and he had lost a lot of weight, but the ugly bruised patches were no longer under his eyes, and though his arm was held at a stiff angle at his side, his feet were steady enough as they moved towards Bilbo’s bed. He sat heavily in the chair, and immediately reached out his good hand to grab Bilbo’s. Bilbo squeezed it hard, paying little attention to the others in the room, two of whom were snickering into their hands.

“You’re alive,” he said, beaming.

“Yes, well. I’ve finally learned to listen when you tell me to do something.”

Dwalin laughed, and Bilbo smiled even more broadly. There was so much work to be done, and a lot of recovery to get through, but the important thing – the thing to remember and be grateful for – was that they were all alive to do it. As more of his friends began to crowd into his room to celebrate his awakening, Bilbo found himself looking forward to the days ahead, and to not knowing where they would lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again! I would love to know what you thought - even a line would be lovely. Either way, though, thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> For a kink meme fill:
> 
> *Spoilers for everything!*
> 
> An exhausted Bilbo sits beside a dying Thorin in a tent on the battle field. Bilbo is so exhausted that he passes out. The thing is, when he wakes up the next morning he isn't at the base of Erebor. No, instead he's staring up at the ceiling of his room in Bag End.
> 
> Confused and half convinced that the entire adventure was just a dream, Bilbo wanders around his home in a daze...only to find the unsigned contract waiting for him in his sitting room.
> 
> He's right back where he started, at the beginning of his journey. The trouble is, this journey business is actually quite dangerous. The first time the trolls break his neck before he can even begin to ask Gandalf what's happening. It ends up not mattering much because he gets another chance when he awakens in Bag End again. And again. And again.
> 
> tl;dr: Bilbo is caught in a time loop. If he or any of the members of his company die, Bilbo wakes up again in Bag End and has to start all over again. And worst of all, Bilbo has no idea how to make it stop.
> 
> Title from a song of the same name by The Weepies.


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